


All That I Am (And All That I Ever Was)

by Nadin



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Adult Content, Clawen, Did I mention Clawen?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Owen's past, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some Humor, angrst, badass! Claire, post-movies, protective! Owen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 105,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadin/pseuds/Nadin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “I’d do it for anybody.” Voice calm, tone professional – Claire Dearing, Operations Manager was back in the game. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“No,” Karen said with resignation as Claire zipped her suitcase shut. “You wouldn’t.”</i>
</p><p>When Owen Grady goes back to Jurassic World... and disappears, Claire Dearing is left with no choice but to break her promise to never set her foot on the island again. Featuring: lots of Clawen, lots of angst, secret experiments, Isla Sorna, Alan Grant and more!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this idea in my mind for a while now. Let's see how it's going to unfold, shall we? (I'm sorry for everything!)

_The first time he kissed her – the real kiss, not the hasty spur-of-a-moment-thanks-for-not-letting-my-face-get-eaten-by-a-prehistoric-beast-in-the-middle-of-a-terrified-crowd kind – her lips were painted bright red. He had spent hours staring at them and debating the pros and cons of going for it, well aware that, in given circumstances, it could be either the best  or the worst decision if not of his life, then at least of the past decade. And maybe of the on to come._

_It wasn’t the leap that unnerved him, but the fact that once he jumped, there was no way to scramble back up and walk away as if nothing happened._

_Then again, those lips…_

_She smelled faintly of her citrus shampoo and that goddamn vanilla lotion that seemed to be etched into his own skin by now, the one that kept driving him insane for months on end already, and he might have as well stopped pretending it wasn’t true. It made him feel lightheaded even before her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him closer, and a low moan formed in the back of her throat as her lips parted against his - whether as an invitation or demand, however, he couldn’t tell._

_She tasted like fear, and need, and Thank God, and finally! And the world kept on spinning, spinning, spinning, although in which direction, he had no idea …_

\---

_Present day_

Owen awoke lying on his back to the sound of the thunder rolling over his head and the heavy rain pounding down on him, each droplet feeling like a sharp needle digging into his skin. The water was everywhere, ice-cold and heavy, pressing him down into the ground, the pebbles digging into his calves and shoulder blades.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the raindrops streaming down his face, and peered into the inky black sky above, straining to hear something beyond the rustle of the rain but coming up blank. He tried to remember how he ended up in what he supposed was a ditch in the forest, but there was a pounding ache pooling in the back of his skull and behind his eyes and echoing in every cell of his body, and it was all he could focus on at the moment.

He rolled over and hissed through his teeth when searing pain shot through his upper arm and into his back, stealing all air from his lungs. A dislocated shoulder, if he was lucky.

He took a slow breath, waiting for the throbbing to abide, and stopped mid-inhale when his ribs protested against it, his muscles tightening instantly in response. He flinched and clenched his teeth, then pushed himself up and into a sitting position, careful not to disturb anything that could be broken and hoping he wouldn’t pass out again because this time he’d surely drown, and dying that way after surviving a dinosaur attack was pathetic, to say the least.

Helping himself with his good hand and digging the heels of his boots into the mud, he scooted backwards until his back was pressed again the rough bark of a tree. By this time, dark spots were dancing before his eyes, but he was no longer in danger of finding his death in a puddle of rainwater, and it was something.

Owen reached automatically for his belt, hoping to find a gun strapped to it, but the holster was empty, and the only thing he came up with was a handful of broken plastic that used to be his radio. Now that was just terrific.

He leaned heavily against the trunk, taking small shallow breaths, mindful of the dull ache resonating in his ribs with his every move, and closed his eyes. It was cold, so cold he was shaking all over, his teeth chattering unevenly.

The reality felt hazy and blurred at the edges, like an old photograph that started to fray and lose its colors with age, zooming in and out of his focus. He was back on the island, that much he was certain of, although the details of landing kept lurking in the back of his mind and slipping out of his reach whenever he got too close. And if this headache wasn’t going to kill him, some monster with more teeth than he could count would probably take care of that long before sunrise.

\---

_4 weeks earlier_

“Is this your final word, Ms. Dearing?”

Frank Caldwell, current COO of Masrani Global Corporation appointed by the Board of Directors to step into Simon Masrani’s shoes after the Indominus incident, folded his arms on his redwood desk and looked at Claire evenly, his fingers laced together, the cufflinks that quite possibly cost more than everything she owned glinting in the sunlight.

“I believe I made myself perfectly clear the first seven times you asked, Mr. Caldwell.” Claire responded in a frosty voice, holding his gaze, keeping her chin high, and hoping she wouldn’t lose it in the next 15 seconds as the pristine white walls of his office kept creeping in on her, making it hard to breathe.

On the bright side, she could throw herself out of one of his expansive windows in case it got worse.

Caldwell arched an eyebrow at her. “You understand that it’s not necessarily a _question_ , right?”

At that, Claire almost snickered, allowing her lips to quirk into a grimace of a cold smile. “Let’s pretend it’s not.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “What are you going to do, exactly? Slaughter another few hundred people and drag me through more court hearings? Make me a scapegoat for some other mistake you can’t pin on anyone else?”

He cleared his throat. “What’s not—”

“Then my answer is still no.” She cut him off. “I am not going back to Jurassic World, and if you had an ounce of common sense, you’d make sure that no one else is either.”

“Ms. Dearing…” There was impatience bordering on irritation in his voice now – a familiar sound from about a dozen other conversations like this one.

“Because everyone who goes back there is going to die.”

\---

_Present day_

Historically speaking, humans were known to be a rather adaptable species, capable of getting used to living in blistering heat as well as extreme cold – an evolution’s way of ensuring their survival.

As a rule, Claire wouldn’t necessarily disagree with it, and who was she to argue with science, two hundred thousand years of evidence, and, let’s face it, no proof of the contrary? Which, ironically, did not make _her_ particularly accustomed to the chilly Wisconsin weather despite the fact that she had years and years to make peace with it.

She didn’t.

Not when she was younger, and certainly not when she was sitting on the windowsill in the guest room of her sister’s house in Madison now, staring unseeingly out the fogged up window at the grey clouds hanging low in the sky, promising more rain later in the day, or maybe even snow – nature’s last _Screw you!_ before it would finally give in to the slow approach of spring.

Claire swiveled the wine in a glass she was holding and took a small sip, waiting for it to land in her stomach and for the warmth to spread over her body and knowing it wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t recall feeling warm ever since that day in the park, not even under the blazing Californian sun upon her return from Costa Rica. It was as if the island took something from her and replaced it with blood-chilling fear that made her feel cold to her bones even as the time and distance grew between her and the worst day of her life.

Not that she expected to just shake it off and walk away as if nothing happened. But, if she were completely honest with herself, she didn’t expect to come out of it this broken. She didn’t expect to keep waking up day after day waiting for this nightmare to end and knowing it was her life now.

 _It’s over_ , she told herself on the boat from Isla Nublar to Costa Rica. _It’s over_ , she repeated when she stepped into her condo in San Diego 48 hours later. _It’s over_ , she kept on saying in her mind time and time again as she lay in her bed at night, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling of her room, unable to close her eyes without seeing all those bloodstained _teeth_.

It wasn’t, and, deep inside, she knew it never would be.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Karen told her when Claire showed up on her doorstep a few days ago – a decision she was starting to regret because it didn’t seem fair to drag her sister into her own drama just because she didn’t know how to find her footing yet. Oddly enough, it was the exact same thing Karen said to her sons after breaking the divorce news to them. Or maybe it was her answer to everything these days. 

It might not have been the end of the world, but it was the end of the world as Claire knew it, and right now, she didn’t know the difference.

She knew better than to argue, though.

Karen was kind enough not to want to rip out Claire’s spine for nearly getting her kids killed, but Claire doubted she’d be able to see the Jurassic World disaster through her eyes – something that was her biggest accomplishment only a few months ago turned into the shame of a lifetime overnight.

One day, she would wake up and it wouldn’t feel like surviving anymore. One day, she would wake up and start _living_ again. But right now, that day seemed so impossible and so far in the future she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of it yet.

Claire knew she shouldn’t have come. It was selfish and stupid, and something she hadn’t thought through. But she needed a break from the lawyers, and the walls of her office that were pressing down on her, and the deafening silence of her empty condo that was making her want to scream, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Except now, surrounded by her sister who kept watching her like she was about to fall apart and her nephews who flinched at every loud noise, she found herself looking for the reasons to cut her visit short and retreat to some deep dark hole where she could hide for the rest of her life. Or maybe set something on fire – she hadn’t decided yet. For the most part, their voices were a comfort sound that saved her from going insane, but they all were skittish and jumpy, and she couldn’t forget the fact that it was her fault.

A soft knock on the door gave her a start.

“Claire?”

She put the glass down and wiped an unbidden wetness from her cheek before calling out, “Come in!” Voice chipper, a smile plastered on her face – no wonder she had the investors eating out of her palm.

A soft creak of hinges followed, and Karen’s head poked in. “Dinner’s ready.”

Claire’s stomach turned at the thought, but she followed Karen downstairs and into the kitchen where Gray sat at the table putting together a realistic-looking model of an airplane. Despite everything, or because of it, she yearned for a piece of normalcy, or at least what passed for it these days, before she had to go back to her unanswered emails and never-ending letters to the families of the deceased expressing her _sincerest condolences_ to the point of feeling sick.

She ruffled Gray’s hair as she passed, and he offered her a small smile in return.

They hadn’t asked any questions yet – not about the lawsuits, although Claire knew for a fact that Karen was following whatever she could catch on the news, or about her current position in the company, or about Owen – choosing to give her some space to gather her bearings. She could see those questions in their eyes, rolling on the tips of their tongues. The questions she had no answers to. And how could she? Her life was broken into more pieces than she ever imagined possible, and Claire was afraid that if she started putting it back together, some of the parts would go missing, leaving her with something misshaped and inconsistent in the end.

She might need to have a lie or two ready for the future, she thought.

 _Everything’s fine, it’s not as bad as they show it. I’m fine_.

If she was lucky, she’d be convincing enough to sell it. They didn’t need to know about her crazy office hours that left her so exhausted she was practically passing out at her desk more often than not – the only thing that allowed her to sleep without seeing blood and teeth and hearing the sound of the crushing bones. They certainly didn’t need to know about how she threw up after the first press conference the company shoved her into, ending up crying in the bathroom stall for almost an hour because she couldn’t find enough strength to drag herself home, so spent on every level it hurt.  

They didn’t need to know about Owen, period.

“We’re going for some groceries afterwards,” Karen told her.

“And some of us don’t have a choice,” Zach informed her grimly, shuffling into the kitchen and looking about as bright as the storm rolling toward the town.

“You eat most of them,” Karen pointed out, unfazed. “It wouldn’t kill you to help me carry the bags.”

To that, he had no response.

She’d given them enough slack, what with the psychological trauma that left both Zach and Gray suspended somewhere between here and there, but Claire knew they all longed for the things to go back to the way they were, or at least the way that didn’t border on a bad sitcom about dysfunctional families. She also knew that if she brought up that comparison, Karen would agree. They were still testing the ground in this new reality, all three of them unsure of their roles or the steps they needed to make to get through one day after another.

Karen turned to her,” Want to tag along?”

Tough call!

Claire turned away, pretending to busy herself with picking out the plates for… whatever they were eating, wondering just how much interest could one show in cutlery before it got suspicious.

Staying alone in the house where she could hear herself think, or going to a place packed to the brim with people, huh?

The last time she went to get her own groceries, she ended up hyperventilating in the frozen food aisle because there were voices and noise and so many people she needed to save, but she wasn’t fast enough… She ran out without buying anything and spent the next forty minutes trying to talk herself into starting her car, hot tears streaming down her cheeks and blurring the world outside the windshield.

Real world – 1. Claire Dearing – 0.

If Karen witnessed that, she’d cancel Gray’s appointment with the therapist and stick Claire into the slot instead.

Not that Claire didn’t think of it herself.

Not that she wanted her sister to bring it up.

She turned around, a stack of plates in her hands, “I think I’ll pass.” Face open, voice steady, a smile that threated to crack her head in place. “Maybe I’ll get to finish that book at last. And do the dishes.”

Her party line was weak, and Claire cringed inwardly at the absurdity of it, but no one told her that the dishwashing machine could do the job just fine, or that she hadn’t touched the book she picked up from Karen’s stack on the first night since it landed on her nightstand and started collecting layer after layer of dust. It wasn’t like they didn’t understand.

“This—” Karen pointed at Gray’s half-assembled model, “--out.”

And he obediently put everything in the box and carried it to the window seat before pulling a carton of orange juice out of the fridge without having to be told.

He caught Claire’s eye over the table as she arranged the napkins, obsessively trying to get them straight, but they simply wouldn’t--

“Did they find the helicopter yet?”

Claire froze, her fingers closing around the soft cloth, and looked up.

“The helicopter?” She asked.

Gray shrugged. “The one that went missing—” his eyes darted quickly toward Karen, as if assessing how much trouble he would be in if he proceeded, but the curiosity won in the end. “Over the island.”

None of them needed him to spell out which island he was talking about.

Karen glanced quickly at Claire, then bore her gaze into her son. “Where did you hear that?”

“They said it on the news. A helicopter went missing last night, they were still searching for it. And the pilot. I just thought you…” He trailed off, his blue eyes pinning Claire to her spot.  

“Since when are you watching the news?” Zach snickered, but his voice was no longer a bored, lazy droll.

“Who was the pilot?” She asked at the same time.

Another shrug. “They didn’t say.”

\---

Claire didn’t watch the news.

She couldn’t stand seeing the Jurassic World reports crowding every channel without a fail, feeling sick to her stomach at the sight of the grainy surveillance videos from the island and the sound of her own name in the mouths of the people who didn’t and couldn’t understand what an experience like that would turn a person into. It used to annoy her at first, but now she was envious of their ignorance and naiveté.

Masrani Global’s PR department supplied her with the official statements on the off chance she’d run into one reporter or the other (unlike Owen, she didn’t have the luxury of flipping them off as she pleased), but otherwise, she avoided the speculations the press was buzzing with, for the sake of her own sanity, if nothing else.

Especially after Ian Malcolm made a grand appearance on the national television with an elaborate speech that basically came down to _I told you so_ , and she ended up sitting on the floor in her shower, choking on her sobs. It took Owen almost two hours to get her out of there.  

At least, she had Owen then.

They couldn’t fire her – primarily because they’d never find anyone to replace her, but also because it would be the worst publicity move in the history of public relations, and it was the one thing they couldn’t afford. She wanted to quit, and she wanted to, badly. But with the media still uncertain of whether she was a hero who saved the day or a monster who could’ve stopped the incident from happening but didn’t, it didn’t seem like the best idea either. Not when her family was still in the spotlight, and, as one of the lawyers noted casually, an innocent person wouldn’t start running. She almost punched him right there and then.

So no, she did not hear anything about any helicopters, but she should’ve known that the normalcy of the past few days, however evasive it was, was deceiving.

It took her five minutes to track down Lowery, her fingers trembling as she punched one number into her phone after another. He agreed to join the clean-up crew almost instantly, and although Claire had no goddamn right to question anyone else’s motives, she still felt betrayed at how easily he went along with it. She knew why they wanted him – he was the only person familiar with the system operating the park and its facilities who didn’t file a lawsuit against them, and in their eyes it was a goddamn miracle.

“It’s not like I’m helping them build another hybrid,” he said with a small apologetic shrug, but it felt all the same to her.

When he picked up five or six rings after, his voice sounded soft and distant, like coming from another planet instead of another time zone. “ _Claire?_ ”

If he was surprised to see her caller ID, she couldn’t tell.

“What’s going on?” Claire asked, her mouth dry, as she tried to ignore the practically palpable looks of Zach, Gray and Karen, fighting the urge to run into her room and lock herself in. For all she knew, they’d stand on the other side of it with their ears pressed to the wall anyway, so what was the point?

Lowery seemed to understand what she was talking about, if the lack of the follow-up questions was any indication.

“ _I’m not on the island yet_ ,” he said, which explained nothing, really. “ _They still haven’t secured the facilities_ —”

Claire hung up then.

He didn’t know anything that could help, and she didn’t have time for pleasantries right now.

“What? What is it?” Gray piped up impatiently beside her, but Karen waved him off, her eyes never leaving Claire’s face.

Her finger hovered over the familiar name for maybe a heartbeat longer than necessary, before she continued to scroll until she reached Barry’s number.

He picked up at once, and if Lowery probably, maybe expected her to call, which Claire wasn’t sure of, Barry obviously knew she would and dreaded it, just like she dreaded to hear what he had to say, while knowing exactly what it would be at the same time. Just her luck…

A few months ago, she’d laugh at the notion of any such thing. Claire Dearing didn’t believe in luck – she believed in hard work and professionalism and getting the well-earned results. But if luck was a thing after all, she must have used up all of hers when she got out of that goddamn island in one piece.

Or so she thought, listening to Barry, her fingers clutching her phone so tight it hurt, her heart sinking deeper, and deeper, and deeper, until it was beating somewhere in her stomach.

 _No. God, no. Please_ …

The first team flew into the island to assess the situation and figure out if it was safe for the civilians – like Lowery and other support personnel. It wasn’t, not quite. The InGen people, however, felt fine with living there while securing the territory of the resort and flying whoever they needed in and out every day. 

It wasn’t Owen’s job, per se, but the last night their main pilot ended up being caught up in something else, and so, a man of many talents that he was, Owen offered to drop a couple of guys off on the mainland when they finished their work for the day. It wouldn’t be a big deal under normal circumstances, but he got caught up in a storm on the way back. They’d last heard from his when he was approaching the island, but then the radio went silent and his helicopter never made it to the landing platform.

\---

“You _have got_ to be kidding me!” Karen snapped, watching Claire shove her clothes into her suitcase without bothering to fold them properly as she dashed around like a small tornado, ignoring Zach and Gray lingering in the doorway – Karen’s persistent request to leave her and Claire alone had no effect on them, their eyes darting from one to the other as if they were watching a ping-pong match.

“Karen—”

“You promised it was over.” She insisted.

“It is.” Claire swiped her toiletries into a bag, then reconsidered and left the whole thing on the dresser altogether – it was too much trouble and they wouldn’t let her through the airport security with half of it anyway. “It’s not like I’m going back.”

“It’s exactly what you’re doing! I just heard you book a flight to San Jose. Using my credit card.”

“It was closer,” Claire mumbled - as if it made any difference. “I couldn’t remember where I left my wallet.”

“That’s not the point. You nearly died on that island. You can’t go back there, Claire.”

“I’m not, I…” She tailed off.

She – what? What was she doing, exactly? And for Owen Grady, of all people, too. That was, so far, a question of a century.

Her fingers unclenched, dropping a crumpled skirt on top of a pair of beige pumps she didn’t remember bringing with her in the first place.

“Look, I know you have unresolved issues, and I get it. Trust me, I do, but—”

“I don’t have any… issues.” Claire heaved a sigh, looking anywhere but at her sister. Good thing the room was a mess and she had plenty of points of interest. “It’s an emergency.”

“And it’s also no longer your responsibility.” Karen said firmly. “Not this park, not anyone.” She made a pointed stress on _anyone_ , forcing Claire to turn to her at last.

“It’s not… that. It’s not about…” Okay, she needed to start thinking straight. “I’d do it for anybody.” Voice calm, tone professional – Claire Dearing, Operations Manager was back in the game. It almost frightened her how easily she stepped into the old shoes, except she had other pressing issue to think of. Then again, it wasn’t likely she’d shed the skin she wore for almost a decade that soon.

Karen didn’t respond at once, looking at her for a little while as if Claire had just said the cutest and the most stupid thing. Which she quite possibly did.

“No,” she said with resignation as Claire zipped her suitcase shut and a cab she’d called for half an hour earlier pulled up to the house, its yellow shape the only bright thing in the fog gathering outside the window. “You wouldn’t.”

\---

Barry promised Claire to arrange for someone to pick her up and accompany her to Isla Nublar, but when the customs and the passport control finally spat her out into the sunny morning, it was Lowery who was waiting for her by the rental car, arms folded over his chest, covering what she supposed was another shirt that wouldn’t pass for a dress code.

And even though she was still bitter about his recent choices, it was such a relief to see a familiar face she almost sagged down to the ground, her chest suddenly tight.

If the island was secure enough for InGen, it was secure enough for him as well, he told her once they stepped onto the ferry and the strong, salty wind all but knocked them off their feet. It smelled familiar and almost comforting, even after everything she’d been through, and Claire hated herself a little for feeling that way, for being glad to escape the mind-numbing chill of Wisconsin.  

On the horizon, the island loomed like a giant sleeping in the ocean, its form dark and ominous, and she was overcome with an inexplicable desire to turn around and start running and not stop until there were continents and thousands of miles between them. Instead, she griped the railing tight and started it down as though it could make a difference.

“It’s been over a day now,” Lowery said pausing beside her, his eyes squinting behind his gasses in the sunlight that felt odd and off in a situation that hung over them like a black cloud.

Claire didn’t respond.

She was well aware that Owen could already be dead.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, y'all ready for more?

_Present day_

The second time he came to, the sun was high up in the sky and the pounding in his skull receded to a dull, throbbing ache that didn’t bother him so much as annoy him. He was thirsty, that much he knew for sure. It was hot again – shocker! – and even in his hazy state, he was fully aware of being slowly burned alive.

Owen pried his eyes open and blinked in the bright sunlight, waiting for his sight to adjust, and then sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes landed on a chewing snout of a dinosaur not even ten feet away from him, only letting it out slowly when he realized it was only a Stegosaurus, and another one behind the first. If Owen’s presence bothered them in any particular way, they didn’t show it, choosing to focus on their lunch.

Ahead of him and slightly to the left, he could see a black metal carcass of what was most likely his chopper lying behind the trees, its blades sticking out at awkward angles, standing out like a sore thumb in the greenery of the jungle.

His gun must still be in there somewhere, as well as some other armory. And a first aid kit. And if he was lucky, a working radio. Although, if it was damaged, he just had to keep moving south until he reached the resort – the size of the island made it virtually impossible not to find his way back to the park eventually. Now, the danger of being eaten was something else entirely, but he decided to deal with one problem at a time.

Slowly, using the tree he was siting against for support, Owen pushed himself up, instantly feeling lightheaded and unstable on his feet, but he’d had it worse. The pain in his left shoulder shot sharply through his arm and into the shoulder blade and down his back, making his grimace and clench his teeth.

It was slightly disconcerting that no one came looking for him yet, but there was a chance he’d meet the search party halfway back to the compound.

Fixing his dislocated shoulder without any help, or decent painkillers, was a treat, and his involuntary cry spooked the dinosaurs and a flock of birds that took off into the sky, and left him crouching behind the crumpled chopper for a while, listening, waiting for the approach of something big and ravenous, his heart racing in his chest, until the quiet settled around him again. Although, even then, he could still feel the ground tremble beneath him under the heavy footsteps of the I-Rex, his memory helpfully suppling him with vivid images of her razor-sharp teeth.

This goddamn island…

As it turned out, there was a big difference between knowing that she was dead and actually _knowing_ it.

The chopper was a mess, the entire front half of it wrapped around a boulder, and Owen shivered at the idea of what would’ve happened to him had he not been thrown out of it on impact. The dashboard was a history that buried his hopes of radioing his location to someone else in the park under a pile of broken metal and plastic, and his handgun was nowhere to be found. His Remington, on the other hand, was crammed under the seat in the back, and he had never been happier than when he managed to uncover a dented box with the first aid supplies. He popped a few Aspirins into his mouth and pocketed the bottle in case it wasn’t enough.

Owen straightened up then, ignoring the pulsing ache in his ribs, and started southward, hoping to get back to the resort before sunset on the off chance he’d be less lucky to make it through his second night in the jungle alive.

\---

_5 weeks ago_

“It’s a joke, right?” Owen frowned from where he was sitting on the bed, his back resting against the headboard.

“I broke the protocols.” Claire noted and kicked off her heels with exasperation, exhausted out of her mind and so scared she could feel it in her bones, and now also annoyed that there was nothing else she could take out her frustration on other than her shoes.

His jaw tightened. “That’s bullshit, Claire! What were you supposed to do? Let your nephews die?”

She asked the exact same question not two hours ago, and never got a coherent answer, receiving the same response that started to sound like a broken record soon enough for her to tune it out entirely. “… _contacted the security blah, blah, blah… never left her post blah, blah, blah_ …” If the Masrani lawyers and execs were waiting for her to start apologizing for her actions as far as her family was concerned, well, they might as well fucking bite her.

“I was supposed to follow the procedures.” Her response was mechanical – something she ran through her head dozens of times, the words making less and less sense the longer it went.

Claire paused by the vanity table to take off her earrings, avoiding to so much as glance at her own reflection, unnerved by how unfamiliar her own face appeared to her, the person in front of her looking like a stranger that climbed out of her skin and took her place.  

“It sounds absurd.” Owen shook his head.

She sighed and rubbed her temples as if physically trying to push away the headache building up behind her eyes. “That’s not how the Board sees it.”

He was on his feet and standing behind her, his forehead creased in disbelief.

“But they know what you did next. Don’t they?”

“Yeah… I intentionally let a dangerous animal out of her paddock, thus endangering thousands of people that were still on the island. They might want to come back to that later.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He snorted, his fists balling, and she could feel his desire to put one of them through the wall just for the hell of it. “How much trouble are you in?”

“Not much. Yet. I don’t know.” She caught his gaze in the mirror. Held it. Tried to keep her voice steady. “They can’t pin it all on me because I know too much. About Wu’s lab and the hybrids. And because they’d lose their face if it turned out they hired a complete moron to run the park packed with bloodthirsty dinosaurs. I’m not sure that, in the light of everything else, they can afford to pull something like this.”

Owen lips quirked. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s nothing _completely_ moronic about you.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, okay?” He leaned in and buried his nose in her hair, his arms wrapping around her shoulders from behind, and she wanted to desperately to believe him. Didn’t even notice how badly she was shaking until she could feel his steady form against her back. “Do you want me to set something loose on ‘em?”

 _No, definitely not_ , was her initial reaction – her professional and calculated response. But she had just sat through a torturous meeting with basically everyone in this world who could turn her life into hell at a snap of their fingers, her heart still leaping uncomfortably at the mere memory of it, at how they spoke about the _tragedy_ as if it was nothing but a business fallback. If they tried hard enough, they could actually send her to jail. Her throat closed up at the thought, and so God help her…

“Like what?” Claire turned around.

“Well, we still have that T-Rex somewhere…”

“Oh, no!” She stopped him right here, hands up in the air. “I think I’ve had enough of the T-Rex for the rest of my life.”

Owen moved closer, his fingers threading through her hair.

“Then how ‘bout we focus on something else tonight?”

Claire felt the tension abate slowly, her lips tugging up at the corners on the will of their own. _Safe, safe, safe_ , her heart thumped. “I’m listening.”

\---

_Present day_

Memory was a funny thing, Claire mused as she watched Isla Nublar step out of the mist hanging low along the shore and grow bigger before her eyes as her stomach kept flopping up and down.

She’d hardly left it in over 7 years, allowing it to consume every spare moment of her time, becoming somehow bigger than everything else, but now she could barely recognize it. It looked vaguely familiar, and yet as alien as a distant memory you almost forgot you had until it was pulled out of the farthest corner of your mind. She wondered if a little absently if it was because the park was never truly hers, or because it tried to take her life, disregarding her devotion to it.

Two months ago, Claire thought that the things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Two months ago, she boarded the ferry heading back to the mainland, knowing exactly what was waiting for her there – a whole new level of the corporate nightmare she had trouble even imagining but couldn’t help dreading all the same, liberally peppered with such consuming guilt it was almost breaking her in half.

Back then, she didn’t think about the liability – _her_ liability – yet. Back then, all she could see were black plastic bags neatly stacked in the far corner of the hangar where the survivors waited for the ferry to take them home, strategically placed there to keep them out of the sun. The lucky ones, she overheard someone say – a callous and yet accurate statement. At least they were found, unlike Simon Masrani who would only be discovered a week later, almost by incident. Her doing, whether she liked it or not.

Two months ago, she thought… No, she _knew_ she would never be coming back, dinosaurs be damned. But look how the tables had turned…

She griped the railing tighter and willed herself not to jump over it and start swimming back towards San Jose. Wouldn’t that be fun, in retrospect?

There was a car waiting for her and Lowery at the dock and a glum-looking man dressed in InGen’s black uniform. He nodded curtly at the two of them, and then they were driving down the road Claire knew like the back of her hand and deeper into the island, and everything inside of her screamed in terror, pushing her back to safety. To where everything made sense. Instead, she clutched the door handle so tight her knuckles turned white and watched the jungle close around them.

“You okay?” Lowery asked from his spot on the other end of the backseat.

Claire nodded without looking at him, her eyes scanning the forest outside her window, struggling to catch a glimpse of something moving between the trees, hoping she wouldn’t.

Okay was a very evasive concept these days. Okay meant she’d made it through the night, that she managed to get out of her bed in the morning, that she didn’t end up hyperventilating in a company of three people of more, that the ground shaking under the passing truck didn’t make her start running for the cover, thinking it was a T-Rex chasing her.

Okay went a long way.

Okay meant she was alive.

Besides, saying she was okay was so much easier than trying to explain why she wasn’t.

“Wouldn’t it be fun to see the T-Rex now?” Lowery muttered more to himself than to her.

“Don’t even joke about it,” Claire shook her head.

Barry was waiting for them outside of the Operations building when they pulled up to it 10 minutes later, looking more like a soldier than an animal handler, his eyes scanning the trees covering the sloping hill before him. He shielded his eyes from the sun when Claire climbed out and his lips twisted a little – a faint ghost of a smile, a recognition between the two people that went through the same ordeal.

Her lips tugged upwards at the sight of him ever so slightly as well, the knot in her stomach feeling less tight by the second. She hadn’t seen him ever since her falling out with Owen, although she knew he was a part of the team coming back to the park, but just like with Lowery, it was hard to hold it against him when the rest of the world was against her and it was a damn relief to see a familiar face.

“Anything?” She asked after a quick exchange of greetings and _Good to see you_ ’s as they all stepped inside and headed up to the Control Room.

It was an unnecessary question – she could see it in his eyes, in the crease between his eyebrows, in the stiff line of his shoulders. There was a dark gloomy air about him, and a part of her didn’t want to know the answer.

Barry shook his head without turning to her as he led the way – not that she didn’t know where to go, but she wasn’t in charge anymore. It felt… odd.

“Nothing,” he said. “No contact in nearly 40 hours.”

Claire swallowed uneasily and pushed through the door after him with Lowery following at her heels and the man that took them here right behind him.

“But it doesn’t mean…” she started. “He might still be alive.”

“We hope he just doesn’t have any means of communication, is all.”

The Control Room looked exactly the way she remembered it – and different at the same time. Too empty for Claire taste. Some of the monitors weren’t turned on, the remaining showing live feed from the surveillance cameras all around the island. She scanned the images quickly with a trained eye but found nothing but the forest, the trees swaying in the breeze. There was a cluster of men standing by one of the desks, bent over what looked like digital maps.

No one acknowledged their arrival.

“The problem is, we haven’t located the helicopter either,” Barry added, catching her gaze.

“And it’s a bad thing why?”

“He could’ve fallen into the water,” Lowery explained before Barry could respond, his eyes glued to the screens just like hers were a few moments ago.

Barry nodded, lips pursed tight, and Claire wished she had something to lean on to, feeling suddenly nauseated. He headed towards one of workstations that displayed a digital map of the island and the surrounding area, and she followed him on cotton legs.

“The last message we got came from here,” he pointed at a spot to the east from the island, about 30 miles away from the coast by Claire’s rough estimation. “He was expected to land 15 minutes later.”

She followed the approximate route Owen must have taken, chewing thoughtfully on her lip. Then looked Barry square in the face. “You’ve got boats.”

“If he fell into the water, it falls under the jurisdiction of the Costa Rican Coast Guard.”

A tall man in his early forties pushed himself away from the group Claire spotted earlier and stepped towards them. Square chin, greying hair on his temples, straight back, heavy gaze. She’d never seen him before, but she could all but feel Barry bristle and flare his nostrils at the sound of his voice.

She stared him down. “So what’s the problem?”

The man’s lips twitched into a humorless smirk. “They’re terrified to come anywhere near those islands.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Claire huffed. “Are you telling me you’re going to just sit back and do nothing?”

He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by the tone of her voice. “There’s not much we _can_ do.”

Her eyes narrowed, head tilted slightly to her shoulder.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

“Dave Harris, InGen. And you are…?”

“Claire Dearing—”

“Of course.” He gave her an apprehensive once-over, nearly snickering, and she had to clench her teeth to hold back a comment rolling on the tip of her tongue. “I should’ve guessed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There’re no more animals left on this island for you to set loose, Ms. Dearing. So why don’t you go back to your air-conditioned office and let us do our work?”  

“And what work would that be, exactly, Mr. Harris? Allowing a bunch of superstitious people to call the shots?”

A flash of anger flickered in his eyes. “No one told me you’d be arriving.” For a brief moment, his gaze darted toward Barry, but the latter didn’t flinch, and Harris decided to keep on trying to incinerate Claire with his glare.

“Surprise.” She said flatly.

“You’re not authorized to be here.”

Her lips curved into a small dangerous smile, and beside her, Lowery mumbled, “Don’t go there, man,” in a futile attempt to warn Harris against getting his head bitten off.

“This place shouldn’t be authorized to _exist_.”

“I’m going to bring it up with your superiors,” he promised.

Without hesitation, Claire pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it to him. “If you get Caldwell, tell him I said hi. I’m finally where he wanted me to be all along.”

Beside her, Barry snorted and covered with a cough. If Harris hear it, he chose to ignore it. “You are to leave this island at the earliest convenience.”

“Good luck with that.”

Behind her, Lowery and Barry bumped fists.

\---

It finally started to dawn on Owen that something was off when he walked for about 2 hours without coming across any road.

Isla Nublar was cut in bits and pieces by roads and trails and tourist tracks.

He might not have known the park all too well, his job never allowing enough free time for him to explore every corner of it, but he sure as hell knew his way around it, and by this point, he should have at least reached the Gyrospehere valley. Unless, of course, he was circling in on himself, which he didn’t discard as impossible, but something was definitely wrong, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, exactly.

His phone was off – either a dead battery, or it didn’t take his diving into mud and rain water too well – thus eliminating the possibility of using a GPS. How fucking lucky! He tried to figure out where he was based on the landscape, but without any defining landmarks, it was a lost cause.

The worst thing, however, was that he was getting hungry and weak, and that pounding headache started to make him wonder if he had a mild concussion, which would be nothing but a cherry of top of his terrific day, Owen thought with dismay.

And where the hell was everybody?

\---

“No, _you_ listen to me! I don’t care what your problem is, but if you don’t send someone here this very moment, I’m going to--” Claire took in a breath, and then frowned. “Hello? Hello!”

Lips pursed together, she turned around to find Barry, Lowery, and a couple of other people watch her with growing interest.

“They hung up on me,” she looked at her phone with exasperation, debating throwing it against the all for good measure. “The Coast Guard hung up on me.”

“When you mentioned _The Muertes Archipelago_?” Lowery huffed. “Figures…”

“And what did you expect?” Harris snorted behind her. “That you would bat your eyelashes and everyone would come running in?”

Claire bristled at the implication, a wave of irritation nearly sweeping her off her feet. “At least I’m doing something.”

Which wasn’t a fair thing to say, and she knew it – in the hours since she’d arrives, she watched the search groups move through the jungle turning every stone on their way, heard them report their progress, saw them come back to the park while the others went out, as she hoped that maybe this time, they’d say something she wanted to hear. They were doing their best, she couldn’t deny that.  

But there was something about rubbing it in Harris’s face…

“How’s that working out?”

“What is your problem, Mr. Harris?”

“My problem, Ms. Dearing, is that I don’t give a crap about what kind of petting zoo you were running here before. This is not your playground anymore, and I don’t like the civilians barging in on my operations.”

“Well, you’re not being efficient now, are you?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then Barry’s walkie-talkie cracked with static until someone voice broke through it, their words unintelligible, and Claire forgot about Harris immediately, her ears perking up at the sound. But when she met Barry’s eyes, he shook his head. Nothing.

“We broke the island into sectors and are searching them one by one, moving north,” he explained when she joined him again, pointing at the dotted lines that made the entire place look like a grid. “Most of the carnivores migrated to the north-east part of the island. Here and here.” Claire followed his finger. “Once we get there, they’ll slow us down. But so far, we’ve covered almost half of the territory.”

“It’s not good, is it?” She asked in a voice that threatened to break any moment. “If he was coming from the east, he wouldn’t make it this far north.”

Without responding, Barry shifted his eyes to the screen. She didn’t need to have it spelled out though.

On the left from them, Lowery cleared his throat.

“Have you guys thought that maybe you’re looking in the wrong place altogether?”

Everyone in the room turned to him, all eight pairs of eyes boring into his face.

He cleared his throat again and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Okay, so Owen was coming from the mainland, heading west.” His fingers danced over the keyboard until his map was projected on the main screen. “Say, something happened… the storm or whatever…” More typing. “And he missed the island. So we add the wind… and he’d be heading straight for—”

“Isla Sorna?” Claire frowned.

“Let’s face it, Claire. You can’t get lost on this island. Eaten – yeah, in 2 minutes flat. But lost? Not likely. Not for someone like Grady.”

“This makes no sense,” Harris huffed, but his resolve was faltering, that much was obvious.

She turned to Barry. “Is it possible?”

He studied the trajectory line drawn by Lowery, brows furrowed in concentration, before answering reluctantly. “It’s not impossible. If he had a full tank.” A pause. “I can check that, and then—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Harris stepped into her line of vision, addressing mostly Barry and giving Lowery a stink-eye. “Isla Sorna is a restricted zone.”

“That belongs to InGen,” Claire reminded him instantly. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to search it.”

“No one is searching anything.”

“Are you kidding me?” She snapped. “He could be there, he could be hurt! We need to go right away.” Her hands balled into fists by her sides, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger.

“It’s almost nightfall,” Harris told her, his tone uncompromising. “Nobody goes anywhere after dark.”

“You’ve gotta be out of your goddamn…”

“He’s right, Claire,” Barry interrupted her. “It’s too dangerous.”

Lowery pointedly looked away.

Claire clenched her jaw. “You understand what we’re talking about, right?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, and “Look, it’s not like—”

“Fine,” she hissed through her teeth. “We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

“Now, wait a minute.” Harris drawled. “You,” his fingers jabbed at Claire, “are not going anywhere. You don’t have a clearance to go anywhere near Isla Sorna.”

She squared her shoulders, her chin tipped up, her eyes brazing with rage. “Stop me.”

\---

He should’ve known it was too good to be true, Owen thought, sprinting through the trees and hoping against hope he wouldn’t trip and end up flying face first to the ground in the next ten seconds as three Ceratosauruses kept closing in on him, their teeth snapping mere inches form his back.

Since when did they even have those?!

Panting, his muscles burning, Owen took a sharp turn to the left, hoping to throw them off, but the beasts simply regrouped. The maneuver only bought him a few seconds – not that he was going to complain about that.

He couldn’t take them down. Not on his own. Not without having to reload his shotgun. Not without giving them enough time to rip him to pieces. Even if he fired and hit one of them, the smell of blood would probably drive the other two insane. And by the looks of it, he didn’t stand a chance at tiring them down either.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

That was just fucking perfect…

He flew out into a clearing, cursing himself for not staying under the trees where he’d be a much less easier target than in the open. And then he all but skidded to a halt at the sight of a low structure covered with ivy and half-buried into a sloping hill. InGen’s logo was barely legible on the rust-covered steed doors. The doors that looked freaking massive.

Heavy panting got louder behind his back, something let out a loud angry scream, and Owen sped up for the building – a hangar? a storage? – feeling like his lungs were going to burst in his chest.

The old hinges resisted the pull, squealing in protest when he yanked the door open, his body screaming in pain against it, but he managed to make a crack big enough for him to squeeze through. And then he slammed it close with a deafening bang and dropped the bolt into its slot seconds before two, and then three bodies smacked into it, screeching.

Gulping the air hungrily, Owen leaved heavily against the doors that kept shuddering under the assault of the dinosaurs on the other side, their claws scratching it furiously. It would hold them off though, that much he was certain of. Soon they’d lose their interest and wander off in search of a better prey. Close. Too close.

He sank heavily to the floor, waiting for his heartbeat to get back to normal so that he could assess the damage caused by this marathon, as he waited for his eyes to adjust to near complete darkness of what he now thought was a bunker of sorts.

“Shit,” he muttered quietly.

Where the hell was he?

\---

In her mind, Main Street would always look chipper and festive, crowded with excited people, boiling with dozens of languages and laughter. Claire watched it being constructed, walked it a thousand times in the years she’d run the park. It had always been bright and colorful, always buzzing with excitement.

Her memory of her last night in the park was hazy and unfocused, as far as the destruction of the shops and the restaurants was concerned. She’d never looked back to see what it turned into when Owen ushered her and Zach and Gray to the docks where the camp was already set for the survivor. She was too tired. Didn’t have it in her to think about anything but not falling apart now that their lives weren’t in imminent danger and it was the only thing she actually wanted to do. She wanted to collapse onto the concrete pathway, curl into a ball and cry until there were no tears left.

Instead, she entered a half-catatonic state that only cracked and crumbled around her once her sister had arrived, the tightness in her chest growing unbearable as the tears began to flow. It would get worse later, much worse, but standing in the hangar then, she was just relieved to have Karen there and know that at least some part of this nightmare was over.

That being said, Claire knew, of course, that Main Street would look bad. She just didn’t know it would resemble a setting of a post-apocalyptic film with broken glass and construction debris and torn down signs everywhere. Her breath hitched in her throat as she gaped at all this, trying to piece it together with the image in her head and failing so badly she thought she was going to lose it again.

What a perfect metaphor for her broken life.

“You shouldn’t be here alone, Claire.”

She started and turned around to find Barry heading her way, his eyes scanning the skeletons of the buildings around them.

“Pteranodons,” he added as if in apology for telling her what to do and where to go in her own park.

Claire swallowed uneasily, her eyes picking bright letters ‘RITAL’ out of the broken bricks and bent metal pieces of something or the other – a part of what used to be a ‘MARGARITALAND’ sign.

“You think Owen’s there? On Isla Sorna?”

Barry didn’t reply at once. “I guess there’s only one way to find one.”

“But…?” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“We don’t even know _what_ lives there,” he said grimly, his gaze hard. “They closed it for a reason.”

She shuddered involuntarily. The thought crossed her mind, and how could it not? But it didn’t seem half as bad until he actually said it out loud.

“I knew it was a bad idea to come back here,” she told him in a hollow voice.

“And yet, here we are,” his smile was small and humorless. “Don’t mind Harris. He’s an ass.”

Claire’s lips twitched sourly. “What is it with this job? First Hoskins, now this.”

“They only pick the best ones.” They both glanced at the Mosasuarus’s pool at the end of Main Street, its surface still and smooth like a glass, the air humid and windless around them, the sun about to sink below the horizon. “I should take you to the hotel before it got dark,” Barry suggested after a while.

“No,” she shook her head. “I think I’ll—”

“Sleep in the Control Room?” He slung his rifle over his shoulder. “Bad idea. Trust me.” And then, “There are two teams still out there. I won’t call them back for another hour or so. We’re doing _everything_ we can.”

Claire ran her hand through her hair, heaving a shaky sigh. “I know Harris doesn’t want me to go with you tomorrow, but could you…” She trailed off.

He nodded without hesitation. “They’re taking a motor boat. But you could fly with me.”

\---

“We’re going to have to land!” A voice shouted into Claire’s ears, breaking through the howling of the wind and the noise of the chopper blades cutting through the air. Not Barry, the pilot, she thought, although it was hard to tell when she could barely hear anything at all.

They circled the north-east part of Isla Sorna – a part where, according to Lowery’s estimation, Owen would’ve landed if he made it here – a couple of times peering out their respective windows at the lush greenery below, her heart hammering as she waited, hoped….

In front of her, Barry nodded. “Can’t see anything from here anyway.”

“There’s a clearing straight ahead.” The man said. “Or we can try to find the old base. They had a landing platform.”

“No, it’s too far inland.”

“A valley it is, then.”

Claire gripped the armrests as they began to descent, her stomach doing uncomfortable flops as the wind currents tossed the chopper from side to side. Either that, or because of the fact that they’d been flying around for a while without any result.

It wasn’t that she expected Owen to oh so conveniently wait for them on the beach, pissed at how long it took them to figure out where he was, but now that she saw the vast expanse of the forest and rolling hills stretching to the horizon, she started to realize that it would be akin looking for a needle in a haystack. Sorna was nearly four times bigger than Nublar, and about ten times more dangerous. All things considered, it didn’t bode well for… well, anyone.  

 _Inhale. Exhale. Repeat_.

She was not going to freak out, she was not—

The helicopter touched the ground with a thud and a shudder, the blades slowing down once the engine was off.

She tossed the earphones aside and climbed out on unsteady legs, her knees just about to give in from adrenaline rushing through her system, half expecting for something to charge at them from the trees, half relieved to not be stuck in a tin can hanging up in the sky anymore.

Back at the park, Barry gave her a handgun, and now it felt odd and heavy in her hand. Out of place. Like it didn’t belong. She didn’t want to use it. Couldn’t imagine using it. The very thought was making her queasy, but, as Barry said to her before they departed, Sorna was a wild territory. She had to do whatever she had to do to survive.

She nodded, swallowing the comment about being sick as hell of trying to _survive_.

“Harris is docking in the east,” Barry said to her and the pilot who also geared up, looking threatening and serious. “We’re going to head there, meet them in the middle,” his eyes flicked quickly toward Claire, “and if we don’t find anything on the way, we’ll… discuss what to do next once we’re all together.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t have it in her to ask what would they do if they don’t find anything, period. Tried not to think about it altogether. It was a long shot and they all knew it, but talking about it was somehow making it even more foolish and stupid, and there wasn’t that much hope left already – she didn’t want the last grains of it taken away from her.

“Stay close,” he said. “If we get separated, head east.”

The pilot nodded curtly. Claire refused to think of how they could possibly get separated.

And then they were walking.

“Are you in trouble for bringing me along?” She asked Barry after a little while when they reached the trees running along the perimeter of the valley, more for the sake of breaking the silence than anything else.

He flashed a quick grin at her – the first real one since she arrived.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assured her. “If he’s here, we’ll get him.”

Claire didn’t say anything to that, choosing to focus on stifling humidity and swarm of insects buzzing around them – it was easier than to actually _think_ of a thousand worst-case scenarios that kept running through her head on a loop.

They’d been walking for half an hour when she caught a shadow moving behind the trees. She thought it was just the wind at first, the branches and twigs swaying back and for the, but it sounded wrong. Then it happened again, and she felt her hair stand up on the back of her neck.

“Barry…”

“We’ve got company,” he said softly without breaking a stride, but his posture went stiff and he got a better grip on his rifle. The pilot walking slightly ahead of them did the same.

“The good kind?”

“The worst one.” He slowed down, alarmed. “The raptors.” The words felt like a punch in the gut. “Two, as far as I can tell. Maybe more.” Move movement around them, not so subtle anymore. He exchanged a quick look with the pilot, both of them nodding in unspoken agreement. “Claire? When I tell you to run, run.”

“Okay.”

 _Where?_ she wanted to ask. _How far? What about you?_ There was so much wrong with this plan, and she didn’t want to go along with it, she didn’t want to move, she wanted to—

“RUN!”

And then her heels were digging into the soft soil, her hands pushing three-foot tall ferns out of her way as she charged forward, her lungs burning more with fear than exertion, her breathing uneven and panicked. Claire didn’t dare stop and look back, see if the others were following. If the dinosaurs were getting closer. Through the pounding of her own footsteps and the blood rush in her ears, it was impossible to tell the sounds apart.

The ground beneath her feet began to slant, making it harder to maintain her balance as she kept on slipping and nearly falling on a thick carpet of foliage and broken twigs, her hands grabbing instinctively for the low branches, burning the skin of her palms but, by some miracle, keeping her upright, her breathing coming out in soft whimpers.

A gun. God, she had a gun. But how was she supposed to stop and aim and—

A single gunshot exploded in the distance, sending flocks of birds into the sky, echoing in the trees and scattering down the hill.

She stopped and whipped around, her eyes searching for… something, _anything_ , swiping the trees before her, but there was no movement, no other sounds but the shrieks of spooked parrots.

For a moment, her mind zeroed in on this spot, her heart hammering so fast she was seeing black dots before her eyes, her whole body vibrating with the ground trembling underneath the Indominus Rex… No, that wasn’t right, this wasn’t how--

And then suddenly there was a loud crack right beneath her, and the ground disappeared. Claire’s arms flailed in the air on instinct, trying to reach for something to break the fall. For a second, she was suspended in the air, more confused than scared at this point because _What the actual hell?!_ before she plummeted down and smacked into something.

Some _one_.

Someone who emitted a surprised yelp and string of curses as they both tumbled down to the ground, their arms closing around her in a dead grasp, a steady hand cupping the back of her head.

And then everything went silent again, save for the dust and dry leaved and wood splinters raining on the through the opening above them, as she buried her face in the stranger’s shoulder, trying to be very still.

And then—

“Claire?”

Still panting, she pried her eyes open and pulled back to find herself face to face with an equally confused Owen Grady, of all people.

“You could’ve just knocked,” he noted, cracking a half-grin. “Instead of knocking me down.”

**To be continued...**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're finally going to have some fun! (At least I will :)) This story is supposed to have a pretty dark tone, and soon we'll get there.
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys, and for being totally awesome! Comments and kudos are always welcome :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your love, guys! You have no idea how much it means to me :)
> 
> *This chapter is brought to you mostly by Kodaline (no, you're obsessed, shhh!) Which probably explains its tone, I guess.

_...Do you remember when I told you_  
_That I'd loved you to the bottom of the sea?  
_ _"Moving on" by Kodaline_

Mind was an interesting thing in a way that it would sometimes bend the truth when it was too big, too overwhelming to process.

All through the chase across the park on _that_ day, Claire would sometimes catch herself thinking it was some kind of a bad joke, a new attraction someone decided to test on them that had gone wrong. Surely, it wasn’t happening, she thought as she was hiding behind the falling apart jeep in the old park, waiting for the I-Rex to swallow her and Owen whole, as she watched Simon’s helicopter hit the aviary and explode. They were going to die, she was certain of that, and yet she still refused to believe what she was seeing with her own eyes.

Afterwards, she’d wake up sometimes at the break of dawn and think she was still on the island, in her suite in the Hilton, about to start a new day, her schedule packed with meetings and conference calls, before the reality kicked in, stealing her breath, her eyes stinging with tears after crying in her sleep.

Too big. Too surreal.

Which could probably explain the fact that she fell into a hole in the ground like some Alice in Wonderland, and smacked into none other than Owen. Maybe she just hit hear head—

“This place is not as sturdy as I thought, after all.” He noted, glancing over her shoulder at the opening above them.

And it was enough of an Owen Grady thing to say to prove that it was him alright. Dust-covered and beat up, but Owen all the same.

Claire pushed away from him and scrambled up to her feet. “What’s going on here?” She demanded.

Owen got up, too, wincing and holding on to his right side.

“Your aim couldn’t be worse.”

Her jaw dropped for a moment in disbelief and, for a few moments, she just gaped at him, incredulous. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome? I had a cracked rib and I think you just broke it.” He glanced up again, as if expecting something else to fall through the hole any moment – which wasn’t all that impossible. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here?! What are _you_ doing here? You’re not authorized to be here. Even I’m not authorized to be here!”

Owen snickered. “Oh, I’m sorry my chopper taking a dive and missing the sky inconvenienced y’all. The next time I’ll make sure to file a two-week notice or something.” He frowned and finally thought to ask the question that bothered him the most ever since he woke up in a puddle two days ago. “Where’s here, anyway?”

“Isla Sorna. You didn’t know?”

He blinked as the pieces of the puzzle finally clicked together. The terrain, the lack of people, the species that weren’t supposed to exist in Jurassic World. Well…

“Must’ve missed the welcome sign. That’d explain a thing or two, though.” Except for the most peculiar of them all. He gave Claire a long look, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are _you_ here? I believe the last time the topic came up, your answer was, and I quote here, _Over my dead body_.”

She threw her arms in the air with exasperation as if he said the most ridiculous thing ever. “You went missing, Owen. You went off to an island packed with dinosaurs and disappeared.”

“And you came all the way here to rub _I told you_ so in my face?”

“Well, how could I waste an opportunity of a lifetime?” Claire deadpanned. “Which obviously was a mistake. Hell, I’m sorry I interrupted your sitting in… what is this place?”

It certainly hit the nerve.

“You don’t get to be angry about anything, Claire. If I recall correctly, it was you who ended our relationship.”

“This has nothing to do with that, and we were _not_ in a relationship.”

“Oh, please,” his bark of a laughter was short and bitter, “we basically moved in together.”

“It was a coping mechanism--”

Owen snorted. “Not selling it.”

“—and then you left,” she finished, each word landing on his like a punch.

This rendered Owen silent for a moment, the frustration drained out of him instantly, and he suddenly felt more worn-out and world-weary than ever before, and, for once, it had nothing to do with sitting in some kind of a bunker for nearly 20 hours.

He did leave. There was more to it, but, at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Not really. He could offer her a mile-long list of why’s and who not’s, liberally sprinkled with all the reasoning in the world, but it would never change the way she looked at him when he told her he was going back – like he’d taken her fragile, newly constructed world and grinded it into dust all over again.

The way she was looking at him now.

He was exhausted and dehydrated, and he had one hell of a night plagued with the sound of teeth sinking into his body and crushing his bones as he waited for the steel doors separating him from his death to collapse under the weight of the beasts that wanted to claw him out of his hiding hole. His whole body was broken in more ways than he could even begin to imagine, but watching Claire stand before him with blazing eyes and a halo of fiery hair framing her face, and not be able to reach for her – now _that_ hurt.

“I had to do it, okay?” Owen repeated the same words he told her on that day weeks ago when everything went to hell once again, the words that seemed to have lost their meaning, if they ever had any, and flinched inwardly at how empty they sounded. “I _needed_ to do it.”

“And I needed you.” Claire said quietly, and looked away when holding his gaze got too much to bear. “And now we need to get out of here.” She muttered, finally taking a proper look around them, if only for the sake of not having to acknowledge Owen’s presence for as long as the situation would allow.

It was a rather small room that made her think of a garage of sorts, with the shelves built into a far wall although it was too dark for her to tell if they were empty of not. Cement walls, cement floor, wood beams supporting the ceiling that must have rotten over the years – no wonder they collapsed under the weight of her body. The whole thing reminded her of the old park structures on Isla Nublar, and, given the fact that InGen used to work here as well, it wasn’t surprising.

They both looked up simultaneously when something blocked the light to find Barry’s head poking through the hole.

“Am I interrupting anything?” He asked with mild amusement, and Claire couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief – partly because he was alive and not torn to pieces by raptors, and partly because he was a welcome distraction from a conversation that was, so far, an equivalent of walking barefoot on broken glass.

“No,” Owen responded at once without so much as a glance her way.

“Not at all,” Claire added quickly. “Is everyone alright?” She asked Barry.

“Yeah,” he glanced over his shoulder. “Everyone’s good. And we found the others, too.” Then he gave Owen a cursory once-over. “You look like shit, man.”

“Good to see ya, too,” Owen squinted. “Did you bring me something to eat? Like a cheeseburger. This nuts and roots diet sucks.”

Barry chucked and shook his head. “We’re your ticket to where _all_ the food is. You okay?”

“Oh, he’s great. He’s just perfect.” Clare huffed, heading for the door.

Barry turned to Owen. “What did you do?”

Owen spluttered for a moment. “What did _I_ do?”

To that, Barry shrugged.

By the time they forced the doors open, the other men had also reached the clearing, their eyes trained of the jungle surrounding it.

“Grady.” Harris said flatly when Owen and Claire stepped outside. “You done being a damsel in distress?”

“Harris. What an unpleasant surprise,” Owen returned in the same tone of voice. “If I knew you’d come running to my rescue, I’d…. try not to get lost.”

“Wasn’t my idea of fun, but your girlfriend here—” his gaze flicked toward Claire, and Owen wondered if he knew how close he was having his jugular ripped out, “—raised real hell. It wasn’t like we had a choice. Can we leave now?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

God, he needed food and sleep, and something much, much stronger than Aspirin if he planned to live to see tomorrow.

“Air or water?”

The idea of getting into a helicopter again made Owen feel queasy, his stomach doing a small uncomfortable flip, his throat closing in making, it damn uncomfortable to breathe. He would honestly be quite happy to never have to fly again.

“Water.”

Harris rested his rifle over his shoulder. “You’re with me then.”

“Air it is.”

\---

The last time he saw Claire, she was standing in the kitchen of her condo, looking out the window at the rain washing over San Diego – a rare occurrence even in the winter months. It was making everything look like an old blurry photograph with faded colors, softening the sharp edges of the world.

She didn’t turn when he said her name, only told him not to slam the door on his way out, her voice strained. They both knew she wanted him to change him mind, just as they both knew he wouldn’t. There were things he wanted to tell her, promises and excuses he knew she wouldn’t care about, and his heart splintered at the sight of her stiff back, a ghost of a reflection of her face in the window, pale and impossible to read from where he was standing.

He wanted her to be mad. This whole situation would be so much easier if she was angry instead of broken and disappointed.

Owen tried calling her a few times in the following weeks, but she never picked up, never answered any of his texts, and eventually he stopped, for the sake of his own sanity as well as her comfort. She had every right to shut him out and cross him out of her life, that much he knew. What he didn’t know was how he was supposed to live with it.

On Isla Sorna, when he heard the crack of breaking wood and reached on instinct for whoever crashed into him, he knew it was her before he saw her, the smell of her wrapping around him as tightly as his arms wrapped around her body to soften her fall. Lilac and vanilla – the smell that haunted him since the first day he met her. The smell etched into every single item of his clothing after weeks of staying with her, and all the memories, all the longing came rushing back in in a heartbeat.

Time was such a bullshit concept. Instead of fixing everything, it was making memories sharper, wounds deeper and scars more painful to the touch.

Owen grimaced at the sight of his reflection in the small mirror, of the cuts and bruises covering most of his upper body, and dropped the ice pack he found in the kitchen freezer for his throbbing shoulder on the counter running along the perimeter of a small white room in the back of the Hilton they used to store medical supplies where he came looking for the painkillers.

Barry was right. He looked like shit. Hell, he might need to sleep in that giant restaurant fridge to take the edge off all the swelling.

“You need to go to a hospital.”

Startled, he turned around to find Claire standing in the doorway, wearing a cautious, uncertain look – like she was debating whether she wanted to stick around or run away.

“No, I don’t.” He grunted.

“Broken bones warrant professional medical help, don’t you think?” An eyebrow raised, arms folded over her chest – she was good at being common sense in the flesh.

“It’s cracked alright, but it’s not broken. I don’t think so.”

“What makes you an expert?”

“Experience.” Owen scoffed. “If I go anywhere, they’d just stuff me with painkillers and make me feel like an invalid.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, although he was certain he sensed a distinct frustration – his experience went a long way. “Suit yourself.”

“Claire?” He called when she turned to leave. “I, um… I could use some help, if you…” They both glanced at his shirt draped across the back of the chair, and then he added, “My shoulder’s not too hot, either.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She murmured, and for a moment, he thought she was going to leave him to his own devices, but then she heaved a sigh and stepped into the room. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”

“Funny, it’s exactly how I feel.” He admitted, allowing his lips to twitch into something resembling a smile – the one she didn’t return. “About what I said earlier… I’m sorry you had to come here.”

“I’m sorry about your rib.” Claire said softly.

In the time since they got back to the resort, Owen had showered and shaved. His hair was still slightly damp, and standing this close, she could feel the heat radiating off his body and his breath falling on her skin, making her chest tightened.  

“S’okay, I have plenty more. It wasn’t my favorite one anyway.” He allowed her to pull his shirt over his head, then wriggled his good arm through one sleeve and let Claire gently help him do the same with the other one, wincing all the way, until he was more dressed than undressed again, and she just stood there for a few seconds with her hand on his wrist. He wondered if she could feel the wild race of his pulse. “I just… I kinda didn’t think that after everything—that you wouldn’t want me to become a dino snack.”

Claire let go of his arm, then grabbed a pack of cotton balls from the shelf, soaked one with antiseptic and dabbed a cut on his cheekbone, ignoring his squirming. “Don’t move.”

“It burns,” he scowled.

“You’re not twelve.” She told him. And then, “I don’t approve of some of your decisions, Owen. But it doesn't mean I stopped--”

“Stopped what?”

She paused for a second, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “What’s your deal with Harris?”

“He’s an ass.” Owen informed her eagerly.

“So I’ve heard. But what’s _your_ deal with him?”

“There’s no deal. You don’t always get to choose your boss.”

Claire stepped back, tossed the cotton ball in a trash bin. “Want to try that again, but a bit more convincing?”

“It’s nothing, it’s… Just drop it, okay?”

Her expression hardened. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Claire…”

“It’s none of my business.” She interrupted him, watching his face fall a little at the frostiness in her voice, but she was tired, so damn tired of secrets and half-truths, and having no idea what she was dealing with. Of this whole situation – with him, with Masrani, with her whole stupid life. Of spending the past few days thinking that the next time she’d see him, there wouldn’t be much of him left, and having to watch his flippant attitude toward what happened. She was such a moron to rush back to this place the way she did, all because-- “You’re good, as far as the blood infection is concerned. All free to go back to playing a goddamn hero again.”

Owen exhaled slowly. “It’s not about—I’m not trying to be a hero, but this needs to be done.” He looked away from her, his voice low and weary. “Someone’s gotta do it, and if it wasn’t me, it’d be someone else, so what difference does it make?”

His words landed like a blow to the chest, knocking all air out of her lungs. At least _you_ wouldn’t have to get hurt, she wanted to snap, but what difference would it make? Oh, the irony….

“Well, maybe if you said no, and someone else said no, too, they’d leave this place be and people would stop dying.” She said, struggling to keep her voice steady and failing.

Owen leaned heavily on the counter and rubbed his eyes. “No one’s dying.”

She bristled at that. “I’m sorry, where did we find you this morning?”

They fell silent at the sound of someone clearing their throat and turned to find Harris standing in the hallway just outside the door.

“If you two are done with your lovers’ spat, can I have a word with you, Ms. Dearing?”

Claire straightened her back, but didn’t move. “I’m listening.”

Harris looked at Owen, his eyebrow arched impatiently.

“I was here first,” Owen snickered, deciding right there and then that he wouldn’t leave on principle – just for the hell of it.

Harris gave him an indifferent once-over and chose to ignore him entirely. “I talked to Mr. Caldwell, and, as it turns out, he’s not opposed to having you supervise the work over here.” He told Claire.

“Meaning, he _wants_ me to be here.”

“Meaning, you’re not going to be removed from the premises for trespassing and violation of the access protocols.”

“That’s a lot of words for what I just said.”

“Wait, you’re staying?” Owen pushed away from the counter, his eyebrows drawn together. “You’re not--”

“So, to make the situation acceptable for us both--” Harris went on as if he didn’t hear Owen speak.

“She’s not staying.” He told Harris, then turned to Claire. “You’re getting on the next ferry and going back home.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She waved him off dismissively.

“As I was saying,” Harris continued, darting a quick murderous look at Owen, who glowered back, “to avoid getting in each other’s way, Ms. Dearing, why don’t you stick to your emails or whatever it is you’re doing, okay? I think this park had already had enough of your… professionalism.”

Owen squared his shoulders, somehow getting ten inches taller in the process, his jaw set tight and his voice a low dangerous growl. “Go on, keep talking to her that way.”

“I’m your superior, Grady.” Harris’s voice was all but dripping with contempt. “You remember that, right?”

“You’ve been here for what, three days? Call yourself whatever you want, but you don’t know a damn thing about surviving in this place.”

“ _You_ want to talk to me about surviving?”

“Owen…” Claire said with a hint of warning in her voice, not seeing so much as sensing that the fists were about to start flying. She leveled the other man with a glance. “I’m sure we’ll make it work, Mr. Harris.”

His eyes narrowed, before settling on Owen. “You have a day off, Grady, and then I expect you to get back to… not being useless. Those animals won’t recapture themselves.”

“I hope they’ll eat you,” Owen breathed out, but it was too quiet for anyone but Claire to hear.

“It’s nothing,” she mimicked his earlier comment when Harris was out of the earshot.

“You can’t be serious about staying here.” Owen said in utter disbelief. “There’s a T-Rex running around this park! It’s too dangerous, Claire.”

She tilted her head. “Because everyone else came to this island for its safety.”

“Wait, is this some sort of a reversed psychology?” He regarded her skeptically. “Okay then, stay all you want.”

She offered him a smug smile. “I’m glad we’re on the same page here, Mr. Grady.”

\---

Once in Barry’s car, Owen sagged heavily against the back of his seat and grimaced at how even trying to relax hurt like hell. The only time he wasn’t feeling like passing out was in that brief moment between his breaths when his whole body seemed to go completely still for a few nanoseconds.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here?” Barry asked for what felt a millionth time as he started the car and steered it towards Owen’s bungalow. “You still look kinda awful.”

“Watch the road,” Owen snorted. “If I’m gonna hemorrhage and die, might as well do it on my own couch.” And then asked after a few moments, “Has anyone seen Blue yet?”

Barry shook his head. “We were too busy trying to find your sorry ass.”

That earned him a heartfelt laugh that morphed into a hiss of pain. “My sincerest apologies.”

“You okay, man?”

“I’m about to break the rule about not mixing alcohol with painkillers and play Mario Kart until I pass out,” Owen breathed out, the twist of his lips rueful and unamused. “At this point, I’m as okay as I can be.” And then, “She’s staying. She’s staying in this dinosaur-infested hellhole, and we don’t even have proper fences yet.” Not even to Barry – to himself, to let the frustration out more than anything else, before he exploded or something.

Barry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then took a left turn off the main road toward Owen’s place. “You know, if I went missing, the only woman that would come looking for me would be my mother.”

“That’s a sad life you have, but you don’t get to have a pity party until you fall from the sky,” Owen pointed out just as they pulled to a stop.

“Just saying,” Barry shrugged, grinning.

“Shut up,” he said and pushed the door open.

“You should’ve gone to a hospital, Owen.”

“Night, mom.”

He hobbled up the porch steps and then gracelessly kicked the door closed behind him, trying hard to ignore the fact that his skin smelled of Claire again and knowing that no amount of painkillers would be enough to make that go away.

\---

Claire’s room at the Hilton was like a time capsule.

The previous night, when she got to the suite she’d been living in since she moved to Jurassic World all those years ago, all she could do was crash on the bed and let the exhaustion take over her, grateful for the heavy, dreamless sleep she’d sunk into for a few hours before the morning light dragged her back into the real world.

Now, however, she stepped inside and paused with her hand still on the door handle.

It was unnerving to see it looking exactly the same as on that fateful day a couple of months back. Her empty teacup was still sitting on the coffee table, her blazer was draped over the armrest of the couch. She remembered coming back up here around lunchtime to fetch the food coupons for Zach and Gray because she didn’t think to bring them with her to the meeting in the morning.

She didn’t know what she expected this place to look like – frankly, she didn’t think of it much – but she didn’t imagine it being so… normal. So ordinary and familiar it made her throat close up. Standing there, looking at her shoes by the half-open closet door, at the framed pictures on the dresser, it was so easy to believe that she traveled back in time, that the life as she knew it would resume its usual course now and she would wake up and have Zara get her coffee and update her on the agenda for the day. So easy…

Slowly, Claire locked the door and made her way deeper inside, her footfalls soundless on the carpeted floor.

She picked up the blazer from the couch and stared at it for a few moments, trying to remember why she didn’t put it away, but it was such a small and trivial detail that her memory erased it entirely. It didn’t feel right, making her feel like her _before_ life was somehow fading away, being slowly replaced by the _after_ chaos, and it made Claire wonder how long it was before she would be so immersed in this new reality the old one would feel like nothing but a figment of her imagination.

In the bedroom, she pulled the patio door open to let some fresh air in. It wasn’t much cooler, but it smelled of the palms and the sea, and the breeze felt nice on her skin.

There was a text from Karen she was supposed to answer, and she was going to, but the weight of the day was crushing down on her. So instead, she climbed into bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in the pillow, hoping that the Owen Grady-shaped hole in her chest wouldn’t suck her in. There was no point in pretending she could stop the tears from falling.

\---

“ _What do you mean you’re not coming back?_ _Have you not almost died enough?_ ”

Claire knew her sister would be less than enthusiastic about the idea, but she still flinched at the mental image of Karen in the middle of her kitchen with her jaw hanging because it was quite possibly the last thing she expected Claire to say – ever.

“Karen…”

“ _In and out – you said it yourself, Claire_.”

There was a hint of panic, too, and not an uncalled-for kind either, and a pang of guilt shot through Claire.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“ _Complicated how? What are you doing there, anyway?_ ”

Now that was a good question.

She was ‘overseeing’ things, which stood mainly for waking up every night drenched in sweat and unable to tell where she was and how she was still alive, the images of something big and angry chasing her through the forest so vivid she couldn’t tell the dream and the reality apart, her heart pounding all the way out of her chest. Or jumping out of her skin every time something screamed outside the resort walls, fighting the urge to lock herself in the nearest closet and never leave it.

As far as fun went, she had plenty of it.

Masrani loved having her here though – a hero with a flare back to where it all started, making sure the Mosasaurus kept on being fed.

The first time she heard them talk about her return to the park like some kind of marketing campaign, Claire ended the call and spend the next little while dry-heaving over the sink in the bathroom, her empty stomach clenching painfully.

They kept asking her about one estimate or the other, but never once about the well-being of the animals, and it was tempting, so tempting to tell them all to go screw themselves, get on the next flight to the States and let it all go down in flames. She didn’t owe them a damn thing. Not anymore.

The problem was, the word about her trip to Isla Nublar got out – the work of the PR team, she was certain of it – and it led to Ian Malcom flippantly mentioning in an interview that it was a sure sign of the imminent reopening, which let to a media shit-storm. All things considered, she was more than happy to let Caldwell take the hit this time while she got to sit it out where no press could find her. An escape she didn’t deserve, but couldn’t afford to toss away.

Sitting it all out, that was what she was doing.

Although right now she was actually on the way to pick up a group of vets arriving on the afternoon ferry – the ACU team had already spotted several animals that required medical help and there was no doubt there would be more as they went on with locating and counting the rest of them.

“I have… certain obligations.”

The hotel doors slid open before her with a soft whoosh and Claire stepped outside heading for her car as humid air wrapped around her like a thick blanket.

“W _hat obligations? Your raptor guy is fine, right? That’s why you wanted to go back in the first place, so…_ ” A pause. “ _Wait, is this it? Are you back together?_ ”

“What? We never were—No, of course not!” This was not the conversation she wanted to have even with herself, let alone with her sister. “It’s not about… It’s the other stuff.”

“ _Like what?_ ” Karen demanded.

“Claire.” Another voice called out, and when she turned to the sound of it, she found Owen walking briskly toward her across the Main Street plaza.

“I’ll call you back, Karen, okay? Tell the boys I said hi.” She hung up before Karen could respond and swallowed, struggling to find some kind of composure, but coming up empty. “Hey.”

She hadn’t seen him much, not after their talk over bruises and antiseptic several days ago – their paths rarely crossed, work-wise, and either she was really good at avoiding him, or he was doing the same thing as well. Either way, it led to spectacular results.

He looked better – the cuts of his face and arms seemed to have healed, mostly, and he was no longer calculating his every move to avoid doubling over in pain. But there was an unfamiliar weariness to him, the circles under his eyes like he wasn’t getting enough sleep – which she could relate to, honestly – and it was an odd sight. Like he was a stranger she didn’t know her way around anymore. If she ever did, at that.  

“Can we talk for a sec?” Owen asked.

“I was actually—” _Get out, get out, get ou_ t. But there was something about his face, about his everything that made her reconsider a quick retreat. “Of course. Everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, yeah. There’s this one thing…” He hesitated as if searching for the right words.

“Yes?”

“On Sorna, did you notice anything… strange?”

She did not expect _that_.

“Is this a trick question?” Claire frowned, but he just kept looking expectantly at her. “No, nothing stranger than, you know, everything. Why?”

“There was something about that… garage, or basement, or whatever…” Owen grimaced a little. “It was clean.”

Claire’s jaw dropped for a moment. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Well, not after you crashed through its roof,” he huffed.

“Where are you going with this, exactly?”

“It looked like it’d been used.” He ran a hand through his hair, glanced at the hotel towering behind her, than at her face again. “Did they find Wu?”

“I don’t think he was officially missing.” She replied automatically. And then his question finally kicked in. “Wait, are you saying--”

“Where do you think he took the remaining embryos from the lab?”

She let the silence hang between them as she processed his words.

It wasn’t that she never wondered about Wu and where he went when the evacuation began – his laying low during scandal was strange and suspicious, to say the least. But, for the most part, her days were filled with obnoxious questions of nosey reporters and overwhelming panic that left her catatonic more often than not, and it didn’t leave her with enough time to give this issue some proper thinking.

“That’s crazy.” Claire shook her head at last. “Sorna is a death trap. InGen has enough facilities all over the world to accommodate him. Why here?”

“Why build something new when they already have a fully functional lab on an island with a perfect climate?”

She snorted. “I wouldn’t call it fully functional, not after the hurricane…”

“How long d’you think it’d take them to do some basic repairs?”

He had a point.

“You’re serious,” she breathed out.

“Think about it - Sorna is literally the only place in the world where no one would come looking for him.”

“You think he’s there.”

“I think _someone_ is there.” Owen shrugged, his voice dropping despite the fact that they were alone. “Look, something’s not right about that place. Beside the obvious things. I’m just saying… right now, Masrani is pinning half of the blame on you. But where was Wu during the investigation? Why hadn’t anyone asked him any questions about the side-effects of his experiments?”

“He had to have made the deal with them.” Claire bit her lower lip. Hoskins made it quite clear that there was more to Wu’s relationship with InGen than they were letting on. It wasn’t that farfetched a conclusion to come to that they’d want to keep said relationship going. “If you’re right… We need to go there and find out for sure.”

“That’s what I was—Wait, what?” His brows furrowed. “We? No, you’re not going anywhere near that place. No way!”

“Of course, I am.” Claire turned on her heels and continued to her car. The ferry was about to arrive, and she was supposed to be a welcoming committee and an entertainer, and she was already late.

“Absolutely not!” He followed her. “Are you crazy? What happened to the death trap?”

“You’re not doing it alone--”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Owen rolled his eyes.

“—and if I can’t join you, Mr. Grady, I imagine Mr. Harris would be thrilled to come along.”

Claire stopped by her Mercedes and turned to him again, looking fierce and determined. Which got him to lose the train of his thought minutely. Except she had this smug expression on her face he knew all too well.

“You wouldn’t.” Owen began only to have her pull her phone out again, her finger hovering over the dial button, one eyebrow arched in that elegant Claire Dearing way that usually meant she knew she had him trapped. “Okay, fine. Jesus, Claire…” He pinched the bridge of his nose with exasperation. “7 AM. Don’t be late. We’re taking a boat.”

“See? You can be perfectly reasonable when you want to.”

He glowered at her. “And, for the love of God, wear something sensible.”

Confused, she looked down at her strappy Louboutins and then up at his departing figure. “Those are sensible.”

\---

She yawned and checked her watch – 6.15. Too early to be alive and functioning, all things considered.

The air was still cool, almost chilly, and the mist was snaking along the water, clinging to the boulders and wrapping around the poles supporting the pier.

She could still be in bed, Claire thought with frustration. She could be having her second cup of coffee, but instead she was freezing her ass off on the beach, all because she couldn’t shake off the feeling that Owen had agreed way too easily to bring her along, and it left her jittery and edgy. Because she knew him too well.

Any therapist in the world would probably call it a paranoia.

Claire shivered. She was cold and sleepy, and a little too exposed to all things toothy. The whole thing was starting to look like a seriously stupid idea, her stomach twisting at the thought of being eaten before she had a chance to get her own breakfast.

A frog leaped into the water, and she whirled around, heart jumping up to her throat, eyes straining to see locate the source of the sound beneath the ripped patches of the fog.

What was she doing here? Not on that beach, but on that island altogether. Say, Owen was right, and Wu was cooking up something on Sorna – what was she going to do about it? And, most importantly, did she _want_ to do anything about it?

Ten days ago, her one and only goal was to try and put everything that happened in this park behind and start building her life again, finding her bearings, learning to sleep without nightmares and to eat out without hyperventilating because the voices of the strangers around her were too much to deal with. Half the time, she was almost succeeding, too. It was less than ideal, but it was better than nothing. And now, she was planning on poking this hornet’s nest again.

This was a waste of—

Her ears perked up at the sound of the approaching vehicle.

6.20

Claire’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed into a thin line.

She knew it. Owen goddamn Grady, and his _I know it all_ attitude!

Sometimes, it was so easy to forget that it was this exact attitude that pulled her back together when nothing else could, when she felt like she was losing her mind, when she needed someone to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be fine. When she needed someone to be in control.

(“You and your control issues,” he said the first time she mentioned it, and she laughed shakily – the sound odd and out of place for the reasons she couldn’t explain – because what else was there to do? She was watching her life fall apart, powerless to stop it from happening.)

Which didn’t change the fact that it could be so bloody infuriating.

Claire started walking towards the beach again, leaving the mist-covered dock behind, the soles of her sneakers squeaking quietly on the wet boards.

And then she stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat, when she noticed something moving in the bushes lining the beach, soundless but not conspicuous enough to go unnoticed.

A lean head of a raptor poked from between the branches, its unblinking eyes staring directly at her.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, kids, my life's gonna get in the way for a while, but I promise you to come back with more stuff as soon as I can. AND! There's some serious goodness planned for the next chapter *whistles innocently*
> 
> Anyway, feedback and kudos are always appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading! I hope this whole story is working out one way or the other :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look who's still alive. Thank you so much for your patience, guys! It's really annoying when real life gets in the way of all the fun things, but I'll try to keep the updates more or less regular. Also, I so appreciate your support! 
> 
> In other news, I need to stop listening to ALL THE SAD MUSIC EVER while writing because when I do, bad things happen. 
> 
> WARNING! Lots of angst and some mature(-ish) content ahead. 
> 
> Dig in!

. _..This love will take my everything,_  
_One breath, one touch will be the end of me..._  
_"Love Song Requiem" by Trading Yesterday_

There was something about Blue’s serpent-like eye trained of Claire, about the way her nostrils moved ever so slightly as she sniffed the air, that made Claire’s blood turn to ice.

She stared at the raptor, half-hidden from the view and almost blending into the trees around her, more transfixed than anything else. This was it. There was nowhere for her to go but into the water, except Claire had no idea if the animal would follow her there or not, and if she did… Well, she was not naïve enough to believe she cold outswim a dinosaur.

She had a stun gun in her car – something that unnerved her a little bit less than hauling an actual rifle around – but this beach was a part of the fenced-off resort territory that was supposed to be safe and carnivores-free. She was so bringing this up with Harris – provided, she had a chance to do it.

Slowly, Blue emerged from her hiding spot. Claire stepped back involuntarily, and the raptor instantly perked her head and craned her neck in Claire’s direction, baring her teeth with a hiss. Claire froze, willing herself not to breathe. She thought she heard the voices on the path leading toward the pier, but with the rush of blood in her ears, it was hard to tell for sure. For all she knew, it could be the wind.

Except the next moment, Blue whipped her head up and around, and even though Claire never dared to tear her eyes away from the animal, she knew that it wasn’t just the two of them on that strip of sand anymore, her momentary relief replaced with a mental image of a much bloodier outcome of this encounter than the one she initially pictured in her head.

“... no, but if you turn it--” Barry cut off mid-sentence, his eyes growing wide at the scene before them.

It took Owen about a second a half to assess what was happening, and then his heart plummeted down to his stomach at the sight of Claire’s ashen face, her eyes wide with fear, and the way Blue crouched lower, ready to attack, her claws curling and uncurling impatiently. He hoped to God Claire didn’t know what this posture meant. 

“Owen,” she called out in a small, chocked voice.

“Don’t move,” he said as he started to make his way toward her, one of his hands raised up before him in that pacifying way he always used to calm the raptors down and establish who was in charge. Only this time, Claire seriously doubted it was going to work. “Blue!” The raptor took a step to the side and growled at him. “Cut it off!”

The raptor watched him with interest – the way a cat would watch a mouse before killing it with a swift, almost lazy swing of a paw. Whatever authority Owen had before, she obviously didn’t give a damn about it now.

One more step. Then another. His boots were sinking into the soft sand, making it harder to focus, seeing as how he was so preoccupied with not losing his footing.

“Hey!” He barked when Blue bared her teeth and made a move at him the second he stepped in front of Claire, positioning himself between her and the raptor, his voice echoing in the morning stillness. “Back off!”

Blue took a step back and chittered at him, her head tilted slightly, her tail moving from side to side. If she considered him a threat, she sure knew how not to show it.

“You okay?” He asked Claire without turning.

“Yes,” she whispered, immediately reaching for his other arm.

“Okay. It’s going to be okay,” Owen said in a low, soothing voice, although Claire failed to tell if he was talking to her, or to Blue. Or both, for that matter. “Barry?”

“Here.” The other man kept watching the raptor with trepidation, his glance darting to Owen every now and then.

“Get the tranq gun from the car—I said _cut it out_!” The last part was addressed to Blue.

“You sure?” Barry asked in a low voice, and Claire imaged him trying to stay as invisible as a six-foot tall man could ever be.

 _No_ , Owen thought.

Over the years, the raptors in his care had been sedated a number of times – when they were transferred to their paddock, when they required medical help, when their paddock needed to be fixed. He made a point of never being around when that happened in order to avoid them associating the unpleasant procedure with him – the kind of trust he shared with those animals was hard to earn and easy to lose. They could be smart, but also unforgiving – a trait he always admired, for it saved them from making the same mistake twice, let alone multiple times.

Right now, Blue didn’t seem to be inclined to listen to him, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for her to be on her own for over two months – without him, without her pack. But he knew she couldn’t have possibly forgotten years of training. Given some time, he could probably break through to her, get her to listen.

The problem was, Claire was there, and it changed everything. Here, she wasn’t an authority figure and her fancy title didn’t mean anything. Here, she was a meal. There was no way around it…

“Yes,” he said, and Barry nodded curtly before backing off carefully.

He returned not two minutes later. Blue didn’t even have time to register the sound of his footfalls before the dart hit her in a stomach. At that, Owen flinched, his fingers flexing around Claire’s hand, and then they watched her sway like she was drunk and shake her head in confusion, trying to get rid of the woozy feeling spreading all over her as the drug began to kick in until she sunk to the sand with a soft, puzzled grunt.

“I’ll get ACU,” Barry muttered and reached for his radio.

At that, Owen finally exhaled.

\---

Later, everything was a blur – like someone pushed a fast forward button and a thousand things started happening at once, not one of them registering properly with Owen.

The ACU arrived, bringing the vet truck, which was big enough to accommodate a sedated raptor and take her back to the paddock. And once she was there, the vets showed up to take her vitals and check her for any injuries – all while Owen stood on the other side of the cage door on the off-chance the tranquilizer wore off sooner than they expected.

Sometime in the midst of it, Claire disappeared without his noticing

He thought it’d feel different – he wanted so desperately to make sure Blue was okay he never quite considered what it would actually mean for her. He thought he’d be relieved, but now he was standing on the catwalk above the paddock watching her slowly come to, her limbs waking up slower than her brain, making her confused about why she couldn’t spring up to her feet, and he wondered – what next? Relief was fleeting, and before he knew it, he was restless and antsy.

He wished he knew what Masrani and InGen had in mind for her – for all of the animals, for that matter – but whenever he tried to rise that question, it was hitting a brick wall. He might have helped save the guests of the park when all hell broke loose two months ago, but his position was still a joke, and no one was going to share their plans with him just because he asked politely.

“Is she okay?” Barry asked, joining Owen on the catwalk.

Owen rubbed his chin, his brows furrowed. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Although she’s not gonna be happy when she realizes what happened.”

For a few minutes, they just stood there watching Blue slowly get her bearings until she was steady on her feet, her snout twitching as she took in her surroundings, paying no mind to the audience.

“Could’ve been worse,” Barry said at last, and Owen tried and failed to push the memory of the other raptors dying out of his mind. Did Blue know what happened to them? Did she want to?

“Grady!”

They both turned around just as Harris stepped onto the narrow bridge and started toward them.

“What now?” Owen muttered under his breath.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re not a raptor whisperer here anymore?” Harris glanced briefly down at Blue who watched him, her head cocked curiously.

“You do not, but something tells me you’re gonna anyway.”

“Well, if you’re done playing with your pet here, there’s some work that needs to be done.”

Owen snorted. “Weren’t you the one who talked my ear off about recapturing the species, Harris?”

“And she’s captured. End of story. You can get your boy-scout badge of honor and move on.” Harris seemed to have finally noticed Barry. “Both of you. The vets need a backup in the northwest sector. Make yourselves useful.”

“What’s his problem?” Barry shook his head when Harris’s steps clattered down the metal stairs.

“What do ya think would happen if he fell over the railing?” Owen asked thoughtfully, and they both looked down at the raptor.

“To him? No idea. Me? I’d pretend I haven’t seen anything.”

\---

A piercing scream outside her floor-to-ceiling window gave Claire a start, her head jerking up, eyes scanning wildly the expanse of the trees stretching to the horizon before her, her heart pounding a mile a minute.

Few months ago, she wouldn’t even hear it, her mind so accustomed to the sounds of the wildlife outside it would tune them out for the sake of her focusing on something more important. Now, she spent a full minute peering out the window to make sure that no Pteranodons were going to crash through the glass and bite her head off. It was somewhat refreshing to react that way to a potentially real threat instead of, say, the siren of an ambulance or the honking of an impatient cab, she reminded herself, but it was a small relief.

PTSD was what the Masrani corporate therapist told her she was dealing with when she was forced to ‘talk to someone’. She didn’t mind the label – it was better than thinking of herself as nuts. However, how much of her reaction was PTSD and how much of it was common sense, current circumstances considered, was another question.

She knew that coming to the office to answer a bunch of meaningless emails after her stare-down with a Velociraptor several hours ago was a lost cause. Which only made her more determined to do it as she refused to be so easily shaken by whatever this island could throw at her. Which left her annoyed and frustrated when she ended up staring unseeingly at the screen before her, her fingers still trembling badly and her mind empty.

Claire rubbed her temples, then pushed her laptop away, and grabbed the car keys.

The Control Room was cool and quiet save for the sound of typing, erupting now and then at three occupied workstations. This near-emptiness struck her once again as something almost unnatural. From thirty to just three… She hoped that all those people she used to work so closely with got off the island alive and with minimum emotional damage.

Lowery looked up when she stepped out of the elevator.

“Hey, Claire. How’s it going?” He gave a cursory look to the monitors in front of him before swiveling in his chair to face her. “Heard you had a tough morning.”

That would be an understatement, she thought.

“Fine,” she said as her glance swept over the security cameras feed – a habit she knew she’d never break even though there wasn’t much to see anymore aside from an occasional animal lurking behind the trees. “Is everything okay here?”

“Yeah.” He told her that all systems were up and running, and, as of a few hours ago, the resort was as safe as it could be. “There was some problem with the perimeter fence after that rain a few days ago, but it’s fixed now.” He checked his activity log. “Also, the vets found an Apatosaurus in the northwest sector, one of the babies from the petting zoo, who was apparently attacked by… um, something unfriendly. And then a couple of Dimorphodons joined the party, but the ACU guys dealt with that.” Lowery shrugged. “Just another day at the office.”

Claire felt her lips tug up ever so slightly. It was odd to think of Lowery’s brief report as _normal_. God, it was almost mortifying what passed for normal these days. And yet…

She nodded. “Good.” Then bit her lip for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She threw a quick glance at the other two men working on the other side of the room and lowered her voice. “Do you have access to the InGen’s files?”

Lowery pushed his glasses up his nose. “Officially or for real?”

“For real.”

He studied her curiously. “What do you need?”

Claire explained her request as he tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his knee while she spoke. She could feel the questions bubbling in his head, but there must have been something about her that made him swallow them all for the time being. “Just send me everything you find,” she finished.

“You got it.”

“Wait,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “they’re not going to know you did it, are they?”

“Please!” Lowery snorted, and then added less enthusiastically, “Because if they do find out about this, we’ll all be in deep sh… Anything else?”

Claire found the feed coming from the raptors’ paddock, although at this time, it appeared to be empty. “No. I’ve got to go take care of something.”

\---

_“Okay.” Claire said after a long pause in a flat hollow voice._

_“Okay? Is this all you have to say?”_

_She turned and looked at him for the first time since this conversation started. “What do you want me to say, Owen? It sounds like you’ve already made a decision. It’s not like asked for my opinion. I assume you have packed already, too.”_

_“Don’t be like that.”_

_He was trying. She could see he was really trying to soften the blow, but for some reason, it only made everything worse, like peeling a Band-Aid one millimeter at a time instead of ripping it off and getting it over with. There was harsh and snarky comments rolling on the tip of her tongue, and Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to bite them back for much longer, if at all._

_“Like what? It’s a perfectly reasonable question.”_

_Owen ran a tired hand over his face. “Look, I know it’s happened too soon, but…”_

_“You think?” She snorted. “’Never’ would be too soon. Six weeks? Six weeks is lightning speed. Are you this eager to risk your life because of a raptor?” His face was pained, but she just couldn’t stop. “Are you sure she’s going to appreciate it instead of, I don’t know, looking at you as her snack? Are you sure it’s worth it?”_

_“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”_

_She dropped her gaze. “Okay.”_

\---

There were things in Owen’s life he would be happy to forget.

Like some of his time in the Navy when he got to see the things no one should be living with. On a mission, one didn’t have a luxury of questioning the orders. On a mission, one had to switch into action mode and soldier on and not think about what kind of person they would be when everything was over. _Not the same_ was the only answer everyone knew was true. And although he considered his time with the SEALs a valuable experience, something that made him who he was now, he wished it came without an assortment of mental images seared in his mind he suspected would require several lifetimes to get rid of.

There was more than one way to get broken, and on occasion, Owen was certain he’d gone through them all.

And then, traumatic experiences aside, there were also things that he wished he could _un-know_.

Like how sometimes a gunfire could get so loud one’s brain would tune it off, leaving the world around them completely silent, and, by extension, twice as terrifying.

Or the feeling when the vicious raptors trusted him enough to listen to him despite the fact that they wouldn’t hesitate to tear a dozen other people apart. The pride. The deep and indescribable sense of accomplishment. You couldn’t brush off something like that.

Or the fact that Claire Dearing loved French toast, and how she tasted when he kissed her after that sticky, cinnamon-flavored breakfast, feeling her smile against his mouth.

If only he could rip those memories out of his head…

Owen heaved a long sigh and opened the fridge, reaching for the beer. Outside the kitchen window, the sun was just beginning to set, which meant it wasn’t that late at all, but he had a distinct feeling that this day started at least a week ago.

He twisted off the cap and took a swig, simultaneously reaching for the light switch, when someone knocked impatiently on the door. And in this place, there was only one person who’d come all the way to his bungalow and bother with knocking.

He pulled the door open, not surprised to find Claire on the other side, and then headed back, leaving her with a choice of either remaining on the porch, or coming in. It was hot and humid as hell. How she always managed to look like she just fell out of a business meeting – her hair pristine and framing her face in soft waves and her silk blouse and black pants wrinkle-free – was so beyond his understanding he might have as well been trying to solve the biggest mystery of the Universe.

“Beer?” Owen asked over his shoulder.

“You were going to go to Sorna without me.” Claire said, stopping in the middle of the living room separated by the counter from what served as his kitchen.

He took another sip, not feeling the taste of his drink this time. “Is there a question in there?”

“Well, were you?”

“Is that a no to beer?”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, dumbfounded and speechless.

She was angry alright when she got into her car half an hour ago, but now it turned into a blinding white-hot fury. “You’re unbelievable!”

Owen slammed the bottle down on the counter hard enough to rattle the utensils in their holder and some of the beer to spill. “Of course I was going to go without you, Claire!” He exploded. “For all I know, there’s another Indominus, or something worse, on that island. Did you seriously expect me to bring you along?”

“This is not about you!” She pointed out in a frosty voice. “Am I supposed to step aside while you clean up my messes?”

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “And how would getting yourself killed help?”

Claire huffed. “So, it’s okay for you to risk your life, but not for me?”

“Yes, it is! Because if I died—” Owen looked away in frustration and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Normally, she’d know to stop right there. Under other circumstances, she would have, but this day had already been a thousand years long, and it had been too much, and she couldn’t keep on going with that dance they’d been doing around each other, couldn’t stand the unsaid words and half-truths. _Couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t!_

“What?” She demanded.

“If I died, _I_ wouldn’t even know. But if something happened to you...”

“You’re such a hypocrite, Owen, you know that?” She cut him off, furious. “Why do you even care?”

“You can’t be this obtuse.” He snorted, but she just kept on watching him with what in another person he’d probably mistaken for patience and what in Claire’s case was sheer stubbornness, if not outright dare. He stared back, knowing he was going to take the bait – they’d played this game too many times in the past for him to still harbor any delusions about doing the smart thing and not letting her get under his skin. “Okay, fine. Because I don’t want you to be Masrani’s scapegoat. Because they’ve got away with enough already. Because I don’t want the history to repeat itself, among other things. Take your pick.”

“That’s not--” she began to protest.

“Because I care, period.”

Claire deflated visibly as his words landed on her like blows.

“Look,” she sighed and folded her arms over her chest, willing herself to sound reasonable, to _be_ reasonable – not that they had a good track record with that so long as the other one was concerned, “it’s like you said – no one’s blaming you, or Barry, or the lab techs for anything. It’s about me and I’m not going to stand on the sidelines and let someone else do the dirty work. Not this time.”

Owen shook his head. “You will get hurt.”

“This can’t go on like this.” She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaling, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We… we must find a way to work together without letting whatever happened between us get in the way all the time.”

“Whatever happened between us.” He snickered bitterly and leaned heavily against the kitchen island, letting his head hang low. “That sounds poetic.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, not inclined to go down _that_ road. “If all this ties to Sorna, we need to find out for sure, but I need to be a part of it, and it’s not your decision to make.” His gaze was uncompromising, but she held it, refusing to back down. “I need you to trust me to know what I’m doing.”

“I trust you.”

“Then stop treating me like I’m 5 years old. I can take care of myself, Owen. I don’t need you to be a hero for me. I don’t need you to keep saving me.”

He let out a long breath and his lips twisted into a small wistful smile. “I’m not sure I know how not to do it anymore.”

At that, Claire glanced away, unable to bear the raw emotion he spoke with, as if it could scald her. As if it could blind her if she looked at him for too long.  

She had no idea what she was doing there, why she came. To ask the question she already knew an answer to? Please! To pick up a pointless fight she was well aware none of them could win? She was more mature than that. But today was making no sense whatsoever, and she was so used to turning to Owen when the world would start spinning too fast it was almost instinctive now.

Obviously, it didn’t bode well for decision-making.

“It’s been a long day. I should probably—” she started, reaching for the door.

“Claire.”

She turned around just as he crossed the room in two swift steps, and suddenly his fingers were tangled in her hair, cupping the back of her head and his lips were pressed to hers in a hard, possessive kiss, which felt like an equivalent of a thirsty man taking a first sip of water after years of wandering around the dessert.

His lips were demanding and unapologetic, and a rational part of her knew it was a bad idea. But when he started to pull away, her fingers curled around his wrists, and before she knew it, she was kissing him back with the same reckless abandon - until she was dizzy, and lightened, and the whole world was nothing but fireworks and warm, needy longing in her stomach. Until she was feeling like there was no oxygen left in this room, and her hand clutching a fistful of his shirt at his waist was the only thing that kept her standing.

“It sounded awful, not poetic at all,” Owen whispered hoarsely, resting his forehead against hers.

“I should go,” she mouthed, still holding on to him, breathless.

“Stay.” He murmured against her skin, his hand finding its way to her cheek, and she leaned into it, into the familiar warmth of his touch. “Please, stay.”

 _No_ , she thought. _No, I shouldn’t_.

But there was something about his voice, about the deep need that echoed in every cell of her body that drove her over the edge, and so she shoved the logic away, her hands gripping his shirt until her lips crashed against his again, and he moaned in the back of his throat. Her trembling fingers fiddled with the buttons on his shirt, ripping half of them off until she managed to push it down his arms and let it fall to the floor.

Owen stiffened and hissed quietly when her fingers dug into his shoulders, and… God, he’d been in that stupid crash not even a week ago.

“Sorry,” she whispered, pulling away slightly, loosening her grip.

“S’okay,” he said against her lips as his hands slid underneath her top, and the touch of his hot skin to hers left her whimpering softly as she tugged impatiently at his undershirt, hating this one obstacle that stood between her and… more of him… all of him. Not fast enough…

Claire didn’t remember how they ended up in the bedroom, but the next thing she knew she was struggling clumsily with his belt as Owen’s fingers worked on the clasp of her bra while his other hand slid into the waistband of her dress pants. His mouth pressed to her shoulder, his breath falling on her skin making her shiver all over. And then she was pulling him over her, her blood running like liquid desire in her veins, her nerves open and exposed. She arched her back to press closer to him, reaching hungrily for whatever she could get her hands and lips on, greedy and desperate to feel…

….alive, so alive.

“I missed you, Claire,” he mumbled, pressing hot, slow kisses to her neck, stealing her ability to _think-breathe-be_. “I missed you so bad I thought I’d go crazy.”

She gasped when his hand trailed along her side and down to her hip as his body filled hers, sending the pulsing fire up through her, melting her bones. “Owen, don’t…”

“Don’t what?” He asked with his mouth on the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Fingers buried in his hair, she tugged at it to pull his face down and bring their lips together again. “Don’t stop.”

She needed this, needed….

Later, he wrapped his arms around her until the entire length of her body was curved to his, his head resting against hers, fingers threading through her tangled curls. His heart was pounding, skipping every other beat, his blood flowing, his breath short and uneven. If only he could breathe _Claire_ in, the entirety of her. He could probably hold her like this for the rest of his life, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Claire whispered against his shoulder.

“Yes, it does.” He ran his thumb over the dusting of freckles on her cheek. “It already did.”

“Owen…”

“You had the last word the first time around. It’s my turn now.”

“That’s not how it works,” she protested.

“Well, it’s a good thing then there are no rules.”

She stayed quiet for a long moment, and it was so un-Claire he thought he said something wrong – wouldn’t be the first time, and sure not the last. A part of him expected her to spring out of his arms and storm out on a huff without so much as a parting glance.

Instead, she turned her face up and kissed him again.

\---

It was some time after six in the morning when the phone call from ACU awoke Owen, his phone vibrating on the nightstand with annoying persistence.

A couple of Pachys knocked down a temporary fence they had put around the valley to try and keep the survived younger dinosaurs separated from the grown species until the vets could put the trackers in them, setting them all loose. It was hardly the end of the world, especially in a place where a phone call signified a fatality more often than not, but as far as setbacks went, this one was frustrating as hell.

“Be right there,” Owen grumbled under his breath, not even bothering to stifle a yawn. “Hey, I gotta…” He started as he rolled over, only then noticing that the other half of the bed was empty and cold, his bungalow quiet in this early hour.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that he managed to get back to the resort where he found Claire by the Mosasaurus’s pool talking to the contractors that arrived earlier that day to start fixing the fence broken when she pulled the I-Rex under the water before she had a chance to do the same thing to a random passer-by.

The breeze kept through her hair in her face, and Claire kept tucking it behind her ear as she listened to the man in a bright orange vest and a hardhat who kept on pointing to the gap in the fence while she nodded now and then. Behind them, the other two workers were unloading something from the bed of a truck.

For a brief moment, her eyes slid past the man’s shoulder and she spotted Owen navigating his was toward them down Main Street that looked somewhat better than on his first day back on the island, but it still resembled a place hit by a tornado rather than a commercial heart of the park.

When Owen was close enough, she excused herself. The contractor nodded, gave Owen a disinterested look and walked off toward the pool on the other side of which a group of vets were keeping the Mosasaurus occupied with food and what looked like a tranq gun – on the off-chance she decided to skip the main course and go straight for the dessert.

“Mr. Grady.”

Owen’s eyebrows shot up. “Ms. Dearing.” His eyes habitually took in the sky, searching for a trace of the flying species before he slung his rifle over his shoulder, his hands all but itching to reach for Claire. “What’s with the disappearing act?” He teased her lightly, crinkling his eyes in the bright afternoon sunlight.

“What do you mean?” She kept on watching the three men move in what felt like a choreographed dance – swift and efficient and never getting in each other’s way without purpose. It was like following a game of Tetris.

Except it took Owen about half a heartbeat to lose his interest in it whatsoever.

For a moment, he thought she was joking, but it did not escape his attention that she kept a safe distance from him. Whenever he made an attempt to step closer to her, she’d move subtly away under the pretense of trying to have a better view of what was the most boring kind of action unfolding before them or to ensure she wouldn’t scratch her designer shoes on a piece of debris scattered everywhere.

He studied her profile, noticing that her expression was closed and her guard was up and unreachable. And just like that, all of his alarms went off at once. “What’s going on, Claire?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” She responded breezily, her eyes scanning the small square in front of them as if she was trying to see what it was supposed to look like after they fixed the place up, before she looked blankly at him. Like Claire Dearing, the Park Operations Manager, not Claire who fell asleep last night with her face tucked into the crook of his neck.

This probably was what it felt like to smack into a brick wall at full speed – without wearing a seatbelt.  

She was good, he had to give her that. Very convincing. Except her lips were trembling and her eyes were red-rimmed - like she either didn’t have enough sleep (which Owen didn’t mind taking credit for), or had been crying recently (which he didn’t like one bit).

“Are you seriously going to pretend that nothing happened?” He asked in disbelief.

At his directness, Claire face fell. “Nothing did happen, Owen.” She looked away, trying to regain her composure, put the mask he managed to crack back on, and if it wasn’t for her lower lip caught between her teeth, he’d almost believe she meant it. “Nothing that haven’t happened before.”

“Wait, stop. Rewind.” He moved to stand in front of her, blocking the view of the pool and claiming – _demanding_ – her full and undivided attention. “I’ve no idea what’s gotten into you between when everything was fine and--”

Owen moved closer, invading her personal space, ignoring her panicked attempt to probably, maybe start running. He wasn’t a savage of some kind, for crying out loud! If she honesty thought that the last night was a mistake, she could just tell him as much – he was a big boy, he could take it. If there was anything else, if she needed time – fine, he’d be happy to give her that. What he couldn’t handle was her trying to brush him off and feed him utter nonsense that sounded downright stupid. Moron that he was, he actually believed they were past that by now.

“Nothing’s gotten…”

“—and when you decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, but what you’re saying now is bullshit. It’s bullshit, and we both know it.”

This close, even with the two-inch heels of her pumps, he was basically towering over Claire, a stormy cloud moments shy from starting to shoot out lightning.

“Ms. Dearing?”

The man she was talking to before waved a hand at her, motioning for her to come over, and nodded and mouthed _One moment_.

“Look, it’s not the best time,” Claire sighed, pushing her hair out of her face as she glanced up at Owen again, fighting and mostly succeeding to maintain the eye contact. “Can we talk about this later? I’m kind of in the middle…” Her phone started to ring. “And I’ve got to get that, too.”

She gave him a small, fleeting smile that didn’t touch her eyes, relieved to have an excuse to escape, and for a while Owen just stood there, watching her walk away – impeccable and about as approachable as a fortress surrounded by a high-voltage fence. And so beautiful it hurt.

And all he could do was wonder how could he be exactly where he wanted to be and yet feel so damn lost.

\---

She was in her fifth hour of reading the small print of the documents she only half-understood, when the words began to swim before Claire’s eyes.

With a sigh, she squeezed them shut and rubbed the bridge of her nose, willing the annoying stinging to go away. She knew her plan wasn’t going to be easy, but she did not expect it to turn out being so tedious. It was something though – something to keep her mind on instead of letting it run in circles around everything she didn’t want to even begin thinking about.

All her life, Claire had a strong aversion to wasting her time, always making sure that whatever she did had a purpose, an end result, but now, doing something pointless felt better than doing nothing at all. Not trying to gain control, per se – she needed to stop thinking of life in terms of control and chaos – but taking small steps to finding her bearings again when nothing else worked.

Maybe it wasn’t the best approach. Maybe it wasn’t even working. But it was all she had.

And it was goddamn terrifying. 

One thing she was certain of – she needed a break. And maybe some coffee, even if it would keep her up all night. Not that any other scenario seemed even remotely possible anyway.

She was scooping the Arabica into her coffee machine when someone rapped their knuckles on the door, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

Claire hesitated for a moment, her fingers flexing around the pack of coffee.

“Hey.” Owen said uncertainly when she finally mustered the courage to cross fifteen feet separating her from the door, looking about as off as she felt, and her heart made a small leap before plummeting down into her stomach.

Of course, he would come over – after that disaster of a talk this afternoon. After she didn’t reply to his text a couple of hours later. She was on the phone with California when she got it, and afterwards, she just stared at it, unable to find a way to respond, the words popping up on her mind feeling senseless and empty, and they both deserved better than that. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect him to show up – she just pushed that thought so far back she almost managed to shove it out of her mind altogether. No wonder it caught her by surprise.  

Owen cleared his throat. “Mind if I…”

Claire stepped aside to let him in. 

He’d never set foot in her suite before – never needed to, actually. Not when she was running the park - when there still _was_ a park, and not after their return to the island.

The first thing Owen noticed about her residence was that it was huge. Stadium huge, at that. Open plan living room with a practical kitchenette tucked in the corner and a bedroom in the back. Beige carpets. Expensive, heavy furniture. And a view on the park he’d probably kill to have in his own house – not that he was complaining about his living arrangements. Although, if he were completely honest with himself, he’d probably never leave that room if it was a part of his contract. The entertainment system alone left him with his mouth hanging – even though, knowing Claire, his best guess was that she’d never turned that TV on. He was so tempted to ask if she even knew how.

Right now, however, it wasn’t the size of the room or the scenery outside of it that caught his attention, but piles and piles of paper spread out on every surface, making it nearly impossible to see anything underneath them. Making him forget for a second or two why he came here, for that matter.

“What’s going on?”

“This?” Claire walked past him. “Lowery got me some of the Wu’s files.”

He turned to her. “He can do that?”

“You’d be surprised,” she huffed, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Owen considered her response. “Have you found anything?”

Claire shook her head, navigating her way toward the couch. “Most of this is the official research.” She admitted. “To be honest, I don’t think he’d keep anything secret on the InGen’s server. Not where someone else could find it, even if it was password-protected. He’s not dense and certainly not careless.” Owen picked up a stack of something, skimming over it quickly with his eyes, his forehead creased in confusion. She met his puzzled gaze. “That’s… a lot of chemistry.”

“So I see.” He put the papers back on the coffee table. “You need any help with it?”

She hesitated, busying herself for a few moments with shuffling and reshuffling the pages, the air around them getting thicker by the second. She could feel his eyes on her, could hear the wheels in his head turning. And, damn it, with her practicality, she sometimes forgot how good he was at reading people. At reading her.

“I would, if I knew what I was looking for.” She said at last, her voice steady and neutral.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out if he’s cooking up something,” Owen suggested with a shrug.

Claire let the implication sink in.

“Sorna.” Of course. “You’re not leaving me behind again,” she scowled at him, her voice dripping with accusation, and for a while, they just looked at one another across the field of printouts. “What you were going to do yesterday was stupid and reckless.”

“So, you _don’t_ mind talking about what everyone did yesterday?” He asked, an eyebrow cocked in false surprise, and Claire flinched involuntarily at the unmasked hurt in his voice. “For what it’s worth, I have no intention to put my life on the line for Masrani,” he said after a short pause, his tone softer. “I wasn’t going to go alone. Barry…”

“Not an option,” she said firmly. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t ask Barry to jump straight into the dinosaurs’ teeth for my mistakes.”

He tilted his head. “But you have no problem with me doing it.” A statement, not a question.

“I didn’t have to ask you.” She snorted. “You volunteered.”

At that, Owen let out a short laugh. “Damn right, I did,” he muttered, running his hand down his face, feeling like he’d cornered himself into something there was no way out of. “About what you said the other day, I didn’t… I didn’t think you needed me, Claire.”

That caught her attention alright, knocking all air out of her body. Making her heart start pounding like she was still running from that T-Rex, except this time she was the flare, and the teeth were coming after her.

And just like that, they were back in the uncharted waters, and once again, she felt like she was drowning.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” Claire shook her head, incredulous, except the look on his face spoke volumes, proving her wrong.

“You never asked me to stay.”

The corner of her lips tugged up, curling into a bitter half-smile. “Would it change anything? I mean, honestly, would you actually reconsider?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Well, maybe if you said something--”

“I wanted you _to want_ to stay,” she interjected. “On your own, not because I was a pathetic mess.”

Owen let out a long, resigned sigh. “It’s not like I wasn’t going to come back,” he said softly.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. It was that he was trying to be so damn reasonable. It was the fact that he was _trying_ that somehow made Claire see red.

“I thought you were dead, Owen. When you walked into Paddock 11, I heard the I-Rex eat somebody, and I thought that somebody was you. Do you have any idea what it felt like?” She demanded, her voice starting to rise, but at this point, there was nothing she could do about it – the panic and shock of the past few weeks finally bubbling over the surface. “And then you come and tell me you want to go back. For a dinosaur. You’d come back to that godforsaken island for a raptor, but you wouldn’t stay for me.”

His shoulders sagged at that, his eyes pained. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then how was it?” She raised her chin.

Owen ran his hand through his hair, his expression weary. “I just wanted to do the right thing.”

Claire knew she should have stopped there, before she actually chocked on the lump in her throat, if nothing else.

“Because a raptor gets you?” It was a low blow, and she knew it, and she hated herself for throwing his own words at him, but they were out of her mouth before she knew it, sharp and unforgiving.

A flash of anger flicked across his face, his eyes darkening. “Because I don’t walk away from my promises.”

Claire held his gaze, her jaw set. “As far as dinosaurs are concerned.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Life’s not fair.” She cut him off. “What happened here wasn’t fair – not to you, not to me, not to everyone who made it out alive and everyone who didn’t. Life’s one big unfair thing, but sometimes, all you can do is play the hand you’ve been dealt.”

“I was going to come back.” Owen repeated.

This time, she wanted to laugh. She actually did, except her voice was breaking already, bordering on hysterical, and she knew that if she started, she’d never be able to stop. Because he actually believed it, and to her, it sounded like they weren’t even speaking the same language.

“You really think that was the problem?”

“What was it, then?”

She swallowed hard, feeling the hole in her chest open again, her resolve, her carefully pulled-together composure breaking at the cracks again. “You chose someone else over me once. How was I supposed to know it wouldn’t happen again?”

He exhaled sharply, taken aback. She might have as well slapped him.

There was no way to tell how they ended up here, and Claire sure as hell didn’t know if there was a way out, each words – his or her own – stabbing her straight in the heart.

“Do you still need me?” Owen asked when the pause grew so long it threatened to swallow them whole, his voice so low it was barely audible.  

Claire looked down and away, and shook her head. “I don’t think I _want_ to need you anymore.”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't try to kill anyone this time, but I hope I destroyed at least some of you emotionally - otherwise, what's the point of all this, right?
> 
> Feedback and kudos are always welcome! :D Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's long-ish? I'm sorry?

Owen Grady never stopped being fascinated by the park. Since the first time he stepped off the boat for his first official meeting with Simon Masrani, the whole place felt like it was something out of this world. Like a goddamn Narnia, for all he knew. Back then, InGen offered him an accommodation at the resort, but the thought of sharing the same piece of land with honest to God dinosaurs – he was still processing the idea of actually _working_ with them, _training_ them – left him somewhat unsettled, so he opted for a cheap room in San Jose and a daily ferry to the park for as long as it took him to decide whether or not he was going to take them to sign his contract.

The Triceratops was the first dinosaur he saw. With his face plastered to the monorail car window, Owen watched it graze in the valley below. Even from above, it looked huge – bigger than anything he could even begin to imagine. It was magnificent.

This was when he knew he was going to say yes to whatever InGen could offer because even before he met Wu and saw the lab, before he shook hands with Simon Masrani and watched the raptors hatch, when he still could go for 5 minutes without Claire Dearing crowding his mind – this place was already magic.

And it stayed that way, oddly enough.

He did grow used to it though – when the long hours kicked in, when the raptors got sick, when there would be weeks of little to no progress in the training, when, occasionally, it felt like this whole project was the dumbest idea ever, a monumental waste of time. When he wanted to go and tell Simon Masrani as much. On the days when they were taking one step forward and two steps back, it was easy to forget his initial excitement, his almost boyish glee at the thought of working with _dinosaurs_.

Maybe they were all doomed form the start, maybe he even knew it somewhere in the back of his mind but refused to admit it even to himself, let alone to anyone else – and he sort of had to face that sad truth now – but damn, he had the best of time on that catwalk over the raptors’ paddock.. At the end of the day, was still worth it.

Or so it seemed to him now when he was sitting at the top row of the Mosasaurus’ feeding show bleachers watching the sun sink into the ocean far ahead of him. As the fading light of it colored everything orange and purple, Owen saw for the first time ever why would the butterflies fly straight into the fire despite probably knowing how it was going to end. Dangerous things could be beautiful, maybe even more so _because_ they were deadly.

Down below, he could see the dark form of the Mosasaurus move swiftly under the water, its fins and tail leaving soft ripples whenever she came close to the surface. Deadly and beautiful, just like everything else here.

“The next show’s not gonna start until… well, never, I guess.”

Barry plopped down next to him and stretched his legs, moving his stiff shoulders, cracking his neck.

“Thought I’d keep her company,” Owen jerked his chin toward the pool.

“She’s a hero,” Barry agreed. “If it wasn’t for her, none of us would make it off this island.”

“And yet, if InGen decides to terminate this project, she’ll be the first to go,” Owen rubbed his face with a long, weary sigh.

Being the only animal that couldn’t feed herself, the Mosasaurus was, so far, the biggest liability. They’d be crazy to try and reopen the park. No one in their right mind would invest into a place that was a nightmare in every possible sense of this word. Which, in the long run, meant that eventually they would have to do something with the animals. Which quite possibly meant just setting them loose and allowing them to fend for themselves. Either that, or selling them to the zoos all over the world – and that, in Owen’s opinion, was their only way to try and squeeze the last dime out of this island. He resented the idea, but it was also the most probable course of action Masrani Global would take.

Except there was no way they’d be able to transfer the Mosasaurus elsewhere – because of her size as well as the risk she posed. It would be near damn impossible to insure the safety of the handlers dealing with her, no matter how experienced. Which meant they would have to put her down.

Not now. Probably not for a while. But eventually.

“They offered me a job,” Owen said after a little while. “When all this is over,” he gestured at the park with a wide his hand. “And it will be, sooner or later.”

Without turning to him, Barry nodded, his eyes trained on the sky. “You gonna take it?”

“Frankly, I’m thinking of telling them to fuck off,” Owen admitted.

This place was like a vortex that sucked him in and forgot to spit him out, and quite honestly, he was more than ready to start putting it all behind. Now, whether or not he was ready to do it was another question, but he chose not to think about it for the time being.

“What about Claire?” Barry asked.

“She’s still under the investigation. We all know it’s a formality, but it’ll end someday. I doubt she’d want to stick around for much longer afterwards.”

“No, I mean – what about you and Claire?”

Owen’s lips quirked into a humorless smirk. “Last time I checked, there was no such thing as me and Claire.”

At that, Barry laughed – openly – and shook his head. “Is this why you’re sulking like a high school girl?”

“Shut up,” Owen elbowed him halfheartedly.

The problem was, the subject of him and Claire was yet another thing he refused to contemplate at least until it stopped making him want to throw himself under the train, and the fact that they so conveniently had a running monorail within arm’s reach wasn’t making it any better.

The two of them jumped into their messed up _something_ in a heartbeat because there was no one else who understood what it felt like to not know which direction the world was spinning in, because the familiarity of it was comfortable, because it was the only thing that made sense when nothing else did.

In retrospect, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take a pause and maybe talk about where it was going, except it felt wonderful and right at the time, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be, so maybe it wouldn’t make much difference after all. It might have been the worst decision he’d ever made, but, given the choice, he’d make it again. And again. And again.

And before he knew it, there’d be his picture in a dictionary, right by the definition of ‘pathetic’.

Owen studied the pool for a few moments, his eyes following the animal moving in slow, lazy circles near the bottom of it. “Wanna feed her a shark or something?” He asked Barry. “I hear people used to pay a shit ton of money to see it. It’s gotta be cool.”

_\---_

_“You need to sleep, Claire.”_

_“I’m not tired.”_

_“Was that a yawn?” He walked up to her from behind and rested is chin on the top of her head, their faces reflecting in the dark window pale and ghostly. “When was the last time you slept?”_

_“Last night.”_

_“When was the last time you slept for more than two hours?” Claire began to open her mouth, and then clammed it shut. She could lie to herself all she wanted, but there was no point in lying to Owen. “You need to have some rest.”_

_She was meeting with the lawyers in the morning and her mind kept on running in circles around every single thing they could possibly say to her, helpfully supplying her with a never-ending list of the worst-case scenarios. She wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, but her brain was on fire. Whenever she so much as closed her eyes, all she could see was a mental countdown until the moment she had to leave the house. It was a welcome alternative to everything else she’d been dreaming about in the past few weeks, but only barely so._

_“I don’t think I can. I…” She trailed off and caught her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze wandering toward the digital alarm clock on the bedside table. Eight hours left._

_Owen studied her reflection for a few moments before letting out a long, defeated breath. “Tell you what – no sleep, okay? Let’s just… watch TV or something.”_

_She knew what he was trying to do, but didn’t bother to argue when he placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the bed, climbing in after her, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. None of them even pretended to pick up the remote._

_“S’gonna be okay,” he whispered._

_“You don’t know that.” Claire sighed._

_“’Course I do. So long as they don’t have another Indominus in there, how bad can it be?” She shivered at the idea, and his fingers started drawing slow, soothing circles on her back until she all but melted into him, into the sound of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”_

_“That’s probably not the best idea.” She snorted, glancing up. “You punched that reporter, Owen. You broke his nose. I don’t think we can afford any more bad press.”_

_“He shouldn’t have jumped out at you like that,” he protested._

_“You can’t be fighting my battles for me.” Her hand closed around his shirt, although her lips curved ever so slightly. “Not that I didn’t appreciate the gesture.”_

_Low, soft laugher rumbled in his chest. “I’d’ve never moved a finger if you showed any sign of going for a hook.”_

_“That’s not what I meant,” she murmured._

_He covered her hand with his until she let go of his shirt and laced their fingers together, his thumb running over her knuckles. “It’s over, Claire. Whatever else they can throw at you, it’s over.”_

\---

Claire woke up to the harsh sunlight blazing in her face through the half-open curtains, mercilessly bright even at this early hour. Her heart was still racing from the dream she couldn’t recall and knew wasn’t worth remembering. The one that her mind had already pushed out of her consciousness, leaving nothing but an unpleasant aftertaste behind. 

It wasn’t the sun that awoke her though, but the racket of an approaching helicopter growing louder with every moment.

Panicked, Claire tumbled out of the bed and grabbed her phone from the nightstand, realizing with growing horror that she managed to sleep through the alarm and was now terribly, awfully late for the only thing she had on the docket.

Perfect! That was just goddamn perfect…

\---

Owen rounded the bend, making his jeep jump on the uneven road, swerving into the clearing before the raptors’ paddock, and then hit the brakes hard, slamming against the steering wheel on impact, trying to avoid colliding with another car parked at the curb.

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the other two vehicles, one of them being a vet truck.

“Owen,” Barry perked up at his arrival, “I tried calling you.”

Yeah, well, his mind was off remembering to charge his phone. What else was new?

“What’s going on?” He marched up to the cage where Blue was in her harness and the vets he was more or less familiar with stood beside her, talking to each other in hushed voices. “Hey! What the hell is this?”

Harris, who Owen didn’t spot lingering outside the gate at once, turned away from the raptor and gave him a long once-over. “Ask your girlfriend,” he suggested with a smug, knowing sneer. Behind him, Barry shrugged and muttered _No idea_.

Owen’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. He pointed a finger at the vets who seemed to have grown smaller under his glare and said, “Don’t do anything until I’m back.”

And the tone of his voice was enough to render everyone quiet and not daring to object.  

The ride back to the resort was fast, but not fast enough, and he wished he could floor the accelerator – he wished he had his bike instead of being confined to the four wheels that felt clunky and uncomfortable and so painfully slow it set his teeth on edge, which did nothing to reign in his boiling fury.

The elevator was even worse, and fuck, he should have taken the stairs, except he didn’t know where they were, although he did make a mental note to find them for the next time he was angry enough to fly up those ten fights taking three steps at a time. If history was any indication, it was bound to happen sooner or later anyway.

He stormed past the now empty desk previously occupied by Zara and barreled into Claire’s office without knocking, without breaking a goddamn stride, his teeth all but grinding together in growing frustration.

“What the hell, Claire?” He demanded the moment his eyes landed of her sitting behind her massive mahogany desk.

“Owen?” She frowned. “I don’t…”

“You can cut the--”

He stopped short, nearly tripping over his own feet when the chair across from Claire’s swiveled around, revealing a tall man in an expensive suit sitting in it. The only reason Owen didn’t notice him right away was because he didn’t expect her to have any visitors, but it still made him feel like a complete moron. And if the color rising up Claire’s cheeks was any indication, she definitely shared that opinion.

Still glaring daggers at her and slightly at a loss of ideas of what to do next – because he was kind of on a mission, but pulling a Houdini and disappearing on the spot suddenly didn’t seem like the worst one either – he shifted from foot to foot.

Being the first to regain her composure, Claire rose to her feet. “Mr. Caldwell, this is--”

“Owen Grady. Of course.” The man got up from his seat as well and extended his hand to Owen. “Frank Caldwell. My pleasure.”

Frank Caldwell. Current ‘Simon Masrani’ of Masrani Global. Owen should have probably known what the man signing his paycheck looked like, except he didn’t because on his list of priorities, it was somewhere at the very bottom – between ironing his shoelaces and… well, that was it.

Still, he shook Caldwell’s hand – mostly because Claire looked like she would bury him alive if he didn’t – and then proceeded to not know what to do.

Claire cleared her throat. “Is everything okay, _Mr. Grady_?” She asked calmly, and one had to know her pretty damn well to recognize a dangerous edge to her pointed politeness.

The smart thing to do would’ve been to turn around and walk away and maybe come back later, or better yet - never, but it didn’t sit quite well with him, although whether because he needed to find out what InGen was doing with his animal, or because he hadn’t seen Claire for the past three days, and it _hurt_ , he wasn’t sure. And it wasn't like he spent the past few nights playing Xbox on Barry's couch because his bed-- Okay, to hell with his bed, his entire goddamn house smelled of her, and it was driving him insane, making him want to climb walls. And not just the house - he didn't seem to be able to wash her off of his own skin. It did magic to his mood - whatever the opposite of magic was. 

“You tell me,” he suggested. “What's Harris doing with Blue?”

“Excuse us for a moment,” Claire said to Caldwell with a small, chipper smile, and then mouthed  _Out!_ to Owen as she ushered him out of the door. “What was that?” She hissed once they were alone. “You can’t be just barging in--”

“Why is the raptors’ paddock packed like it’s a May Day parade?” He cut her off.

“I don’t understand… I told the ACU that Blue needed a tracker, but that was it.”

“Why?” He regarded her suspiciously. “She’s not an attraction.”

“None of them are attractions, Owen,” Claire pointed out with poorly masked exasperation, “but all animals must have them. The tracking implants help up keep count of them. Not to mention that if some of them didn’t have them, it’d make everyone’s work a whole lot harder. Do you have any idea what it would be like to never know where the T-Rex is?”

She had a point, which only made his scowl deepen.

“Why didn’t I know about it?” Owen asked.

“It’s a simple procedure. Your permission wasn’t needed.”

“Courtesy, Claire. The word you were going for is courtesy.”

A shadow of guilt flickered across her face and she sighed. “Look, I was going to call. I didn’t mean to go behind your back, but then Caldwell arrived and… it slipped my mind.” Her glance darted toward the door to her office, then returned to him. “You didn’t actually think I’d do anything…”

“What? Jesus, of course not.” _Son a bitch_. Harris knew what to say to get under his skin, and he did it just for some twisted fun. “I’d never…” He trailed off and shook his head, suddenly very aware of the emptiness of the building and the only sound being the hum of the air-conditioning and Claire standing not three feet away from him to ensure some privacy, which still felt like too far away for his liking. Not that he had any say in it.

“Well, now that this is settled, I should probably go explain to my boss why we were so rudely interrupted,” she said. And then added, “At least we’re talking again. That’s a progress.”

Owen ran a hand over his face.

“You were the one who told me to bugger off. I was just doing you a favor.”

“Right,” she murmured and dropped her gaze, turning to leave.

“Hey, Claire." Go big or go home, right? "About this trip to Sorna – you still up for it?” He called after her, just as surprised by the words that came out of his mouth before he even knew what he was doing as she was. “I mean, we don’t have to.”

“7AM tomorrow,” she said before he made any further attempts to backtrack, throwing his own words back at him. “Don’t be late.” It was such a fucking cliché, but the ghost of a smile that touched her lips was like a stab in his heart, and, damn, she was so _beautiful_. “And if you try to stand me up again, Grady--”

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll come bite me in the ass.” He scoffed and headed off.

She shook her head and turned the knob to find Caldwell standing by the window, peering outside at the park. He turned to the sound, head slightly tilted to the side.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Dearing?”

 _Peachy_.

“Perfect.” Claire walked back to her desk, the light smile still plastered to her face (which made her wonder if she was even capable of wiping it off before her face cracked). “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” She paused for a moment before asking, “Has there been any news about Dr. Wu?”

\---

The first question Simon Masrani asked Claire during her interview was whether or not she was good at making split-second decisions. Jurassic World, he said, was the kind of place that could, and would, require that skill more than anything else – more than her Hayward degree or the exceptional rapport with people needed for dealing with the investors. Would she be able to think fast in a situation when everyone else would freeze?

Yes, Claire said without hesitation. Of course, she would.

More teeth, Gray whispered, and her mind sprang into action, her body reacting to his words faster than her brain, her legs carrying her toward paddock 9 before she even knew what she was doing, exactly. More teeth, she thought, standing before the thirty-foot tall door and hearing nothing but the frantic beating of her heart. A split-second decision, because if she paused to give it some proper thinking, she’d never be able to go through with it. She’d be the one to freeze.

There was a moment after Lowery pressed all the right keys in the Control Room and the door began to slide open when Claire thought it was the last thing she was going to see. She was luring the T-Rex out of her cage. She was going to die and get everyone else killed.

Except she couldn’t. Because there was no backup plan this time and no one was going to save her. The lives of Owen and her nephews – and the other twenty thousand people, although she wasn’t thinking about them in that moment – depended on her, and once the gate was open, there was no way out.

It should never have come down to this. She should have made a different decision earlier – she should have started the evacuation the moment the I-Rex was out of the paddock – but even though, as a human being, she knew that it was the right thing to do, as an Operations Manager of the park, she believed she had it under control. She had never faced a failure before. Why would it happen now?

It was that kind of arrogance she eventually ended up paying for by playing Fetch with a prehistoric monster, split-second decisions be damned.

Claire wasn’t stupid. She never believed that absolute control was a possibility, or even a probability, but she also never thought she’d learn how absolutely ridiculous this notion was the hard way. It was one thing that she couldn’t control everything – that she could live with. But what was she supposed to do when she shouldn’t control _anything_?

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Barry asked for the umpteenth time as he watched Owen untie the rope and toss it into the speedboat. A backpack followed suit. “I could come with…”

“We’ll be fine,” Owen assured him.

Claire looked uneasily toward the resort. “Besides, someone might notice if all three of us suddenly disappear.”

“And if someone asks, you can tell Ms. Dearing needed to _consult_ in private,” Owen wiggled his eyebrows at her, watching her expression change to the one of absolute horror, her jaw dropping in shock.

She turned to Barry. “Don’t you ever say anything like that to anyone. Ever.”

Barry chuckled and shook his head, unfazed.

“Keep your radio on,” Owen told him, and Barry nodded, his gaze shifting restlessly towards to horizon where Isla Sorna was still concealed by the morning mist. “Well, shall we?” Owen started, offering Claire his hand, but she had already climbed into the boat and was standing by the dashboard, watching him expectantly with her arms crossed over her chest, the morning breeze tugging at her hair.

“Just… stay out of trouble,” Barry gave them a parting wave before heading back to his car.

“Might be too late for that,” Owen muttered as he started the boat.

\---

It was quite incredible how in this climate zone, the humidity seemed to be increasing by 15% every minute. Or so Claire thought, blowing a strand of hair that kept falling on her forehead with a huff. It didn’t feel that bad in the morning, or even on the boat, but the moment they stepped into the forest, the air enveloped around them like a blanket. Although to keep them safe and cozy or to suffocate them, Claire couldn’t tell yet.

Frustrated, she swatted at an increasing number of mosquitoes buzzing around her face and only barely managed not to trip over something or the other covered with grass and a thick layer of foliage.

“This is getting ridiculous.” She muttered.

Walking a few feet in front of her, Owen glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Which part?”

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.”

Claire snorted. “Do you know _where_ we are?”

“It’s not about where we are.” He lifted a low-hanging branch for her to pass. “It’s about having a final destination, which we don’t. Ergo, we’re not lost.”

She regarded him grimly. “Okay, do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”

“Hey, I didn’t come up with that concept.” Owen held his palms up in the air defensively.

“Really?” She stopped, hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes. “Because I’m pretty sure you just did.”

He flashed a cheeky grin at her, “Please. You give me too much credit.”

“I used to not give you enough, and look how that played out,” Claire sighed and started walking again, pointedly ignoring the twigs scratching her shins and tugging at her clothes.

“See? And you were worried it’d get awkward,” Owen breathed out.

“I wasn’t… Why are you trying to make it so complicated?”

“Honestly?” He stopped and turned to her, causing her to nearly bump into him, his expression bearing no sign of the signature Owen Grady easiness anymore. “Just for the hell of it.” He shook his head. “Why did you come here, Claire?”

“I’m starting to feel like we’ve had this conversation more times than strictly necessary for a lifetime.” She scoffed.

“No, why did you come back to Nublar? I mean, really.” He ran his hand through his hair, irritated with his own outburst. “The last time we talked about it, you were adamant about setting the whole place on fire the first chance you got. I didn’t ask you to come running to save me. You knew InGen would take care of that. And with how everything is so fucked up between us--”

“You listed me as your emergency contact,” she said, cutting him off before the conversation derailed completely, and then looked away, chewing on her bottom lip.

Owen blinked, surprised by her response. Took his time to absorb her words. Because yes – he did do that when the post-incident insurance paperwork came up, because there was no one else at the time, and even if there was, he’d still want it to be Claire. He just wanted it to be Claire, for whatever. Honestly, it didn’t even cross his mind to even consider anyone else at the time. And God, it sounded cheesy even in his head, but hell if he cared – not then, and not now.

“Okay,” he said slowly, feeling a little like they were walking on a minefield. “And?”

“If anything happened to you,” _If you died_ , but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud, “I’d be the first person they’d try to reach. I didn’t want to get that call.” She gave him a fierce look and pushed past him desperate to storm off, mature person that she was, and then stopped abruptly after taking a couple of steps. “What is this?”

Ahead of then, half hidden behind the lush greenery, was what looked like a leathery boulder that seemed to be a bit too odd and out of place for Claire’s comfort. She didn’t see so much as feel Owen stiffen beside her.

“Stay back,” he told her in a low voice that allowed no argument as he started moving again, his fingers flexing around the rifle, gripping it tighter.

It wasn’t until they were not ten feet away from what Claire first thought was a weird formation of rocks that she realized it was actually a Stegosaurus lying on its side, its massive form taking up the whole space of a small clearing amidst the trees.

“Is it dead?” Claire asked in a loud whisper, instinctively holding back.

They unnerved her, always had, and Owen was right – it was one thing to watch them from behind the glass, and something entirely different to be within arm’s reach from what could literary step on her without even noticing. Even lying on its side, the Stegosaurus looked huge and deadly, and just because she knew it wouldn’t be after her blood, it was impossible to dismiss it as safe.

And just as the question slipped out of her mouth, the animal took in a shuddering breath, its sides convulsing, the kite-shaped plates along its back trembling ever so slightly.

Slowly, Owen lowered his weapon and approached the animal.

“She’s sick. Hold this,” he handed Claire his gun and then knelt beside the dinosaur, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“Sick?” She frowned, cautiously stepping forward, unable to trust it not to leap up to its feet and… do something. From this close, she could hear its labored, shallow breathing, its eyes half-closed as though keeping them open was too much effort, and her heart clenched, her mind jumping back to the moment of watching the Apatosaurus die after the I-Rex’s attack. “With what?”

Owen shook his head. “Anything.” He reached for the Stegosaurus’s head, but it jerked away from his touch. "Food poisoning. A virus.” He gave the animal a cursory look, taking in its enormous form, and she followed his glance automatically. “I don’t see any injuries, but they could be internal. Or maybe it’s a just a broken genome acting up.”

“A what?” She turned to him just as he got up to his feet again.

“Everything that came out of Hammond’s lab was modified one way or the other,” he explained. “They’re all hybrids to a certain degree, you know. Sometimes their immune systems are too weak, too unfit for, I don’t know, the climate, the ecology, the diet.” He brushed his palms over his pants. “I’m not a vet, this is not exactly the area of my expertise.”

Claire swallowed. “Is it going to die?”

“Afraid so.” And it took someone who knew what his balled hands and tightly set jaw meant to understand that he wasn’t at all unaffected by what they were seeing. “Give me a sec, just want to… check something.”

He rounded the dinosaur’s body, disappearing from the view, and Claire’s hands clutched his rifled so tight her knuckled turned white. Her initial instinct was to pull out her phone, call Lowery, tell him to send over the handers, wondering if they had enough medical supplies, if maybe they needed to order more from San Jose – before she remembered that this was Sorna and there would be no handlers and no help, and if something was going to die here… well, it was going to stay dead.

Something brushed against her calf, and she looked down, thinking it was just the grass. It was not. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched in her throat momentarily.

“Owen.”

“Just a sec.” He called back.

“I think you should have a look at this,” her gaze darted from side to side in panic.

“Yeah, in a moment.”

“Now!” God, was that a squeal?

“What’s so--” He began, stopping beside her. “Shit. That’s…”

“Compys,” Claire finished in a whoosh of breath as at least two dozen pairs of curious eyes watched the two of them from the shrubs and bushes all around the small clearing. Owen made an astonished sound, and she bristled instantly. “Don’t be so surprised, I was in charge of a dinosaur park for over seven years.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

She stepped back and closer to him, her fingers letting go of the rifle when he tugged at it, pulling it out of her hands. “What do they want?”

“Well, my guess is we interrupted their lunch,” he shifted to half-shield her from the herd of mini raptor-lookalikes. “And now we’re the lunch.”

“Great.” She gripped his shoulder. “What now?”

“On the count of three.” His muscles flexed under her palms. “One… two…”

“On the count of three – what?”

“Run!”

It would be such an unbelievable irony to survive a 50-foot tall I-Rex and then die at the teeth of some lizards, was what kept spinning in Claire’s mind as they made a beeline for the trees, Owen’s hand gripping hers so tight she thought he’d break her fingers. And yet, it was somehow the least of her problems. Behind them, the herd of Compys let out a string of excited chirps and set off after their prey, their small bodies quick, lithe shadows in the grass.

She kicked one of the animals when it snapped its teeth dangerously close to her ankle, her heart plummeting into her stomach at the thought of being ripped to pieces by chicken-sized prehistoric monsters on the island where no one would even think to look for them. 

“The tree!” Owen barked, yanking her forward to hard he nearly jerked her arm out of its socket. “Come on, Claire! Up, up!”

He hoister her up and then pulled himself to the lowest branch just as at least ten Compys barreled forward to attack at once and leave him with no way to escape, their teeth grazing the heels of his boots second before he hauled his body up from the ground. He followed Claire who kept moving upwards, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the dinosaurs as possible.

“Well, that was fun.” Owen glanced down at the pissed off and enraged Compys growling at them from nearly thirty feet below, their tiny but no less deadly claws scratching the bark of the tree furiously. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not breeding this,” he jerked his head toward raging dinosaurs, “on Nublar.” And then asked, “You okay?”

“Define okay.” Her breathing still ragged and her hands gripping the thick trunk, Claire followed his gaze, trying oh so hard not to think how close her knees were from giving in, and for a few moments, it was just a stare-down with their narrowly escaped death. Then Claire asked, “What now, Einstein?”

Owen’s lips quirked as he slung his rifle over his back lest he drop it. “Now we wait. Make yourself comfortable.”

“You know, it doesn’t sound like a solid plan.”

He looked over the crowns of the lowers trees stretching before them. “Let’s just say, if it was a T-Rex, we’d need a bigger tree.”

“Not funny.” She scowled at him. “How long are we going to stay here?”

“A day or two,” he deadpanned. “They’ll probably get bored by then.” And then, before she had a chance to respond, “Scooch over.”

Claire frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall down. Wouldn’t that be a kink in this otherwise brilliant plan?” He pulled himself up to her level and slid behind her on the branch Claire was rather precariously perched on, his arm snaking around her waist, his sudden proximity making her tense all over. “Relax, Claire, I won’t bite.” And then he added under his breath, “You can’t possibly be that repulsed by me.”

“I’m not--” She whipped her head around, indignant, faltering when she found herself face to face – or nose to chin – with him, not even an inch apart.

Owen’s gaze shifted to her slightly parted lips before locking with hers again. “You were saying?”

It would do her good to crack a joke now, perhaps. To lighten up the mood. No, scratch that – to kill the mood. Instead, what came out of her mouth was: “Who is obtuse now?”

She thought he was going to kiss her, he was so close. Thought _she_ was going to kiss him. God knew, she wanted to. Of all the decisions she’d made recently, it would hardly be the worst one.

Claire was many things, but blind had never been one of them, and there was something about the way he was looking at her… Always had been, for that matter. A connection she couldn’t deny. Not a spark so much as a bolt of lightning, if she were completely honest with herself. With Owen, it was like she was standing in the middle of a tornado with chaos raging around them, her skin prickling with the electric charge shooting through the air, while his steadiness, his calm confidence kept the parts of her from being snatched away and sucked into the vortex until there was nothing left.

He’d always had that effect on her, even before the _incident_ , and more so afterwards - when the guilt was so overwhelming, she’d double over, unable to breathe; when she would look in a mirror and see Murderer written on her face; when she was more broken than she ever imagined possible.

It was the reason she said yes when he asked her out that first time.

It was the reason she was relieved he never did it again - Claire Dearing didn’t like when other people had this much power over her. _Control issues_ was what everyone called it. _Self-preservation_ was how she identified it for herself.

And it was also the reason he camped on her couch for exactly one day after they returned to the Stated from Costa Rica before moving into her room. So much for self-preservation.

“Owen…” she started her heart doing this _thud-thud-thud_ against her ribs for the reasons that had nothing to do with the sprint through the woods. He was watching her lips again, so maybe that was it. “I asked Caldwell about Wu yesterday,” she blurted out when he began to dip his head, and just like that, the moment was gone.

He blinked and pulled back, and Claire turned away before they both toppled to the ground, purposely deciding to ignore the fact that she could feel the warmth of his body through the few layers of clothes between them. It was supposed to be awkward, but instead it was comforting, and it took her just about a heartbeat to sink back against him, allowing him to hold her close. Would this familiarity ever go away, or would she spend the rest of her life gravitating toward him because it was the only thing she knew how to do best?

Yeah, maybe falling down wasn’t that bad a thing, after all.

“And?” He prompted her.

“He either doesn’t know anything, or wouldn’t share.”

“What’s your best guess?”

Below them, the Compys kept running in circles around the tree, occasionally looking up, their high-pitched clicking and chirping somewhat muffled by the thick foliage rustling softly in the wind.

“My best guess is that he wouldn’t tell me anything just because I asked politely,” she pointed out, slight annoyance slipping into her voice. “There’s no mention of Sorna anywhere in the InGen files either, or Lowery would’ve found it already.”

“Well, that would be too easy now, wouldn’t it?” Owen snickered, his breath grazing the skin of her neck.

“By the way, the reason Caldwell flew all the way to the park was that Harris keeps insisting that I’m unfit for my job and should be replaced with someone else,” Claire added, shooting a pointed look at him over her shoulder. “Why is that, I wonder.”

“Oh, he’s just trying to get back at me ‘cause he believes that removing you from the island would really inconvenience yours truly,” he explained helpfully and without a second’s hesitation. “See, Harris here is under the impression that you and I are together. It’s a common misconception, I’m afraid. I made a mistake once of thinking so myself.”

“And then you went and fixed it. I do remember that,” she agreed, flinching at the obvious, unmasked bitterness her words were laced with.

To that, he didn’t respond at once, and she had to fight an urge to run again and not daring to, scared of what she might see on his face.

“I didn’t choose Blue over you, Claire. I’d never…” Owen exhaled sharply. “I just had to finish what I started.” There was weariness to him, an unfamiliar resignation that felt palpable, seeping into her, pressing down on her, making her stomach twist into a knot. With a sigh, he added, “Just like you didn’t tell Masrani to go fuck themselves and slam the door on the way out.”

“I was responsible--” She began to argue.

“Well, news flash – so was I.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it was firm, final, and Claire swallowed the protests that began to swirl on the tip of her tongue. “Listen, I know it wasn’t--”

“They’re gone,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“Compys. They’re gone.”

He looked down, scanning as much of the space below them as he could, searching for the movement in the knee-high grass, half-relived half-doubtful. “The question is, how far.”

“We’re not staying here for two--”

His hand closed around her mouth before she could finish, his lips suddenly pressed to her ear. “Shh. Don’t move.”

Slowly, he removed his palm, and then pointed at something below.

Some _one_.  

Claire’s brows pulled together in confusion when she spotted two men moving confidently through the thick overgrowth of the jungle. Muscular frames, square shoulders – they didn’t need the camouflage cargo pants for her to know right away that they were military, but their attire certainly added to the image. They were talking, but from this far, she couldn’t make out the words or even try to read their lips, no matter how much she strained her eyes. The whole scene was so eerie it made her blood run cold.

It was only when they disappeared from her view that she finally allowed herself to exhale.

“What the hell?” Owen muttered, but she could tell it was more of a rhetorical question.

They waited for ten more minutes before making their way down at last. Owen’s boots hit the ground with a soft, soundless thump. He glanced up then and beckoned her down.

“Come on. Jump.”

“If you drop me, I swear to God--”

With a sharp intake of breath, she slid into his arms that wrapped around her in a tight grip just as hers closed around his neck, their faces suddenly nose to nose, robbing her of the ability to think. And goddammit, she was not supposed to still feel this longing so sharply, so unapologetically, so deep in her bones.

“I needed you, too, you know.” Owen said in a raspy voice.

“Just not enough,” she whispered back.

He swallowed, hard, at the tremor in her voice; his fingers brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead. “More than you can imagine.”

It was not a fight either one of them could win.

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

“Save this conversation for a better time?” He suggested.

Claire rolled her eyes. “No, what do we do _now_?”

“Um. Right.” He let go of her. “Now we get out of here, ASAP.”

“What? Why?”

“Those guys – whoever they were – were armed to their teeth.” He signaled at her to start walking, his skin pricking with what he could only described as foreboding, and his gut was seldom wrong – as far as this place was concerned. “I bet they’re specifically instructed to shoot first and ask questions later.”

He looked like he was going to add something else, but the ringing of Claire’s phone, so unexpected and out of place it startled them both, cut him off.

She pulled it out hastily. “Lowery?”

“ _Hey, you asked me to keep an eye on the weird stuff, and I think I might’ve found something._ ”

“What is it?”

He paused, and she heard the sound of his footfalls before he spoke again in a hushed, urgent voice. “ _I think there was another hybrid in the works_.”

Claire froze, stunned. “Another hybrid?” Her eyes locked with Owen’s.

“ _There’s a file that has a code for a name,”_ Lowery explained _. “It’s encrypted, but I think I can crack it. See, the thing is, most of the projects are labeled, as, I don’t know, ‘The Raptors’ or ‘The Mosasaurus’. The obvious way, you know? And I think they didn’t classify this one because they didn’t know what to call it and ‘A Monster from Hell’ didn’t have a ring to it._ ”

“Okay.” Okay. God. She rubbed her forehead, her mind racing. “You sure it’s not a file on the Indominus?”

“ _It’s not. Because there’s another thing_.”

Why, of course there was another thing! “What?”

“ _This file was modified a week ago_.”

“Okay,” she repeated because it made more sense than random screaming. “We’re on the way back. Don’t do anything, and please be careful.”

“ _On the way back?”_ She could _hear_ him frown _. “Where are you?_ ”

Claire sighed. “Take a guess.”

“ _Oh, shit_.” Lowery muttered a second before she hung up.

She caught Owen quickly up on the conversation, the crease between his brows deepening the further she went. He cursed under his breath when she finished, his jaw set tight.

“We definitely need to get out of here,” he muttered through his teeth, just as confused and mortified as she was. He didn’t speak for another little while as they made their way back to the coast, the sun finally starting to inch toward the horizon. It did nothing to ease the stuffy thickness of humidity, but the closer they came to the ocean, the more bearable it got. “They can’t seriously be that stupid,” Owen said when a pale blue stripe of the water appeared behind the trees ahead of them.

“Since when is money not a good enough reason to do something stupid?” Claire snickered. “Look, let’s not jump to conclusions yet. Lowery can get carried away sometimes, and it’s not a bad idea to have some actual proof--” She cut off and stopped abruptly when the trees opened up before them, spitting them onto the white sand. “Owen?”

“Yeah?” He echoed absently, pausing beside her.

“Is it just me or… where’s the boat?”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, this was insane. I hope it's fun for you, guys :) I swear I'm going somewhere with it. 
> 
> Feedback and kudos are always appreciated :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, look who's back! And I finally managed to write something that doesn't make me cringe, so yay to that. Thank you so much for you patience and support, especially considering that I can't always update as often as I'd like to :)) You are the best! 
> 
> Dig in!

Everything in the world had taste, and if Dave Harris knew anything at all, it was that being in charge tasted sweet. Some might say it was the result of his years in the military, others – that it was a trait of his character. Personally, Harris didn’t care as long as he got to set the rules.

The asset containment operation on Isla Nublar was supposed to be piece of cake – put them all back into cages and pocket the paycheck that could last him for a few years. He didn’t even think twice before accepting InGen’s offer – so what if some of the species were XXXL-sized? The whole thing was far from impossible, and it was the only thing that mattered. It still beat the Navy, risk-wise. Plus, half the time it felt like vacation, too.

What he didn’t expect was to find someone like Owen Grady running around this island like he owned it. Hell, he didn’t expect to find _Owen Grady_ here, period – not after most of the people who made it out of the park alive after the I-Rex disaster refused to even discuss the possibility of coming back because going through the Isla Nublar experience once was one time too many.

Trust Grady to be an exception from the rules! Harris did not need a man who adopted a velociraptor as a pet and his nosy girlfriend to get in his way. He had strict orders from InGen, and the interference of Owen Grady and Claire Dearing—

The ringing of his phone on the dashboard interrupted the train of his thought.

“Harris,” he snapped into it, hoping it wasn’t yet another disaster. He slammed the brakes hard, halting the car to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean – missing?!”

\---

“Well, the good news is, Barry’s gonna come get us… eventually.” Owen strapped his walkie-talkie back to his belt and looked at the water stretching before them.

How he managed to get _that_ from the crackling and static that she had heard, Claire had no idea. “Do I want to hear the bad?” She asked without enthusiasm.

They walked about a mile and a half from the spot where they’d left the speedboat in the morning in case whoever took it came back looking for them, assuming – and rightfully so – that it would be where they’d return eventually. The sun set almost completely by the time Owen announced that they were ‘good’. She chose not to question it. Frankly, between being nearly eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitoes and the fact that there was no way for them to get off Sorna, it was the least of her concerns.

“Someone on this island knows we’re here,” Owen explained. “There’s a chance they’re looking for us. And what did you say about the new hybrid?”

Claire sighed and rubbed her temples. “Just once, why can’t the bad news to be something less drastic?”

He beamed at her. “Where’s fun in that?”

“What are you doing?” She asked when she noticed that he threw a handful of twigs into a small pile, added some dry grass on top of them and was now crouching beside this formation and clicking the lighter over it, waiting for the spark to catch it.

“How else will Barry find us? By scent?” Owen responded without looking up.

 _He_ could probably do that. Just follow the trail of vanilla and something that was purely _Claire_ , something that was driving him mad more than anything else, a part of her that, for all he knew, was in his own DNA by now – and there she’d be, all fiery energy and fierce green eyes and _hey, you didn’t sign up for this, but ha, suck it in_. As if he needed any more proof that he was in too deep.

Claire gaped at him. “What if someone else finds us?”

“Not likely.” Owen pointed at the rock formation, towering over and around them and separating them from the dark jungle on the other side as it grew into higher cliffs further down the coastline. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take if you don’t want to build a new life right here.”

It did not sound particularly convincing, but she didn’t have compelling arguments against it.

Claire sat down on the sand, her body tired and aching in more ways than she was willing to admit even to herself, the events of the past few hours finally taking a toll on her.

“Who knew you were such a boy-scout?” She observed.

Owen plopped down beside her, knees bent, elbows resting on them, and shook the sand off his hands. “What did you do as a kid? Ballet?”

“What do you always have to assume--” She cut herself off, annoyed by how easily she took the bait.

“Come on, tell me.” He nudged her. “What did little Claire busy herself with before the spreadsheets found their way into her life? Were you a girl-scout? A Brownie? No, wait – you did karate!”

Claire bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “Watch the fire.”

He poked it with a stick, sending a flurry of sparks into the air, and then asked seriously, “You don’t actually think they’d make another dinosaur, do you? Not after the I-Rex idea worked out so spectacularly.”

She exhaled sharply, frustration seeping into her voice. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, Owen. Imagine enhanced raptors. Or enhanced Compys – something deadly they’d think they can control.” She shook her head, grimacing. “How long do you think it would take for someone to get sold on this idea? And we’re not talking weeks or months. We’re talking _hours_. How soon afterwards would they lose control of the animals that are not meant to be ordered around? And before long, there will be another massacre I didn’t stop.”

He almost snorted at that. He would have, had he not known she was serious.

“You can’t seriously blame yourself for everything _ever_ , Claire,” he told her. “You were following the orders. And then you did everything – and more – to fix what you couldn’t stop. It’s gotta count for something.”

“We were all following the orders, but someone had to question them. It was _my_ job to question them, and I didn’t, and see how it ended.” She looked away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Just because it wasn’t my idea doesn’t make me any less responsible for the consequences.”

His jaw tightened at that, and even in the dim light of what probably was the smallest fire ever, she saw him pale visibly, which made her wonder just what exactly she’d stomped into so gracelessly.

“Owen…”

“It happened three years ago.” He said all of a sudden, not looking at her, his voice distant and hollow. “I wasn’t supposed to be deployed, but the order came and… you don’t always get to have a say in that. Harris was the Lieutenant in charge; his brother was in my platoon.” Owen paused, and, as desperate as she’d been for an answer, a part of her didn’t want him to continue. “It was a rescue mission in Middle East – something that was supposed to be over before it even started. Piece of cake. One morning, a missile hit our camp. Everyone was still asleep – and I hope they never woke up to understand what happened. Harris and I were the only survivors – miraculously, he walked away with a few scratches and a concussion. I spent two weeks in a hospital, mostly fading in and out of it between blood transfusions. The hospital staff called me lucky, but it’s hard to look at it that way when you know that 14 other people had to be _assembled_ to be sent back home.” His face was hard, unreadable, but then he let out a long, weary sigh, and just like that, he was Owen again. “That’s when InGen’s offer came in. You know the rest.”

For a while, Claire just sat there, watching the fire, her heart fluttering somewhere in her stomach. And what could she possibly say? _I’m sorry_? _Sucks to be you_? _Well, at YOU made it out_? She seriously doubted there even were words that wouldn’t sound fake and foul and out of place.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His lips twitched in that cynical, humorless way that made her flinch.

“Well, the Indominus wasn’t yours.” He met her eyes for the first time. “You didn’t make her. But it doesn’t make much difference, does it?”

 _That was not the same_ , Claire wanted to protest. Except it was – in a grand scheme of things - and they both knew it. Demons were demons, regardless of the package and flavour.

“So, is this why Harris is on your case? Because his brother died and you didn’t?”

“To be fair, he’s always been a jerk.” Owen said, then offered her a small _What can I say?_ shrug. He looked away. “That’s why I had to come back here – so that I could finish what I’ve started. ‘Cause I didn’t get to have a do-over the first time around. It’s not the same now, but they call it survivor’s guilt for a reason.”

She allowed the words to hang between them for a while, half unsure of what to say, half certain that there was nothing she _could_ say that would make any sense.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” She asked at last.

He cracked a weak smile and wrinkled his nose. “It’s not exactly a conversation you have over dinner and a bottle of wine.”

“When did we ever have wine for dinner?”

She didn’t mean it as a joke – not really, because it would take one hell of an asshole to steer this conversation into a ha-ha land, but it wasn’t until he let out a short laughter that she realized he needed it as much as she did, lest they suffocate under the weight of their mutual doom and gloom.

“Not a beer and pizza talk either,” Owen admitted with a small sigh.

It wasn’t enough, Claire wanted to tell him, but then just nodded instead. It would have to be.   

“Did you know Harris would be here?”

He looked at her seriously. “No. But even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything.” Somehow, she didn’t doubt that. “I got a call from Alan Grant the other day,” he continued when she didn’t say anything.

Claire eyebrow arched in surprise. “Like the one I got from Ian Malcolm a month ago? Did he also accuse you of starting an apocalypse?”

It was not even an exaggeration – Dr. Malcolm used those exact words, and for a while after the conversation was over, she just sat in her chair and stared at her phone like it was something from another dimension, her mind struggling and failing to process such blatant nonsense. It was hardly the most insane thing she’d head after the I-Rex disaster (half of her interactions with the press of any kind – from the local news channels to nosy bloggers – ended with her wanting to bang her head against the wall). But coming from Ian Malcolm, it sounded so ridiculous she found herself wondering if the call happened at all, or if she was losing it at last.

“He offered me a job as his research assistant. You know, take all my knowledge about the raptors and help him with some kind of paper.”

There was more to it.

“That… sounds interesting,” Claire said carefully, uncertain of whether it was good news or not. On the one hand, he wasn’t facing the possibility of the involuntary manslaughter charges – and ha, you could end up with that if you were an authority figure that made every bad decision ever in the time of a crisis. Who knew? So her bad news trumped his by a mile in any case. But maybe he was averse to the very idea of any sort of research, so… “You want to do it?”

It was hard to imagine Owen stuck in the office in front of a computer instead of running wild and free under the blazing sun and talking to the animals in that weird language made of trust and confidence she never understood completely. But they weren’t the same people anymore. She was no longer a person who’d print out an itinerary for a date, and she was about 70% sure he’d reconsider his wardrobe choices had the occasion come up again. Maybe he was tired of running, too. God knew, she was.

Claire could feel him weighing his answer, choosing the words carefully as though the wrong ones could crack the thin ice beneath them, throwing them both into the frigid water and sucking them into the dark, murky depth.

“He lives in Boston now.” Owen said after a few moments, voice even, almost nonchalant. He cleared his throat. “You think I should take it?”

Her breath hitched, and suddenly her surprise turned into anger. He had no right to ask her that! No right to try and place the responsibility for something life-altering on her.

“It’s hardly my decision to make,” she said stiffly.

“Claire…” He captured her wrist to stop her from scratching a scattering of mosquito bites on her arm – she didn’t even notice she was doing it – and her pulse quickened under his touch. It stammered for just a moment and then sprinted into a rapid hammering beneath his fingertips as though their bodies were having a conversation of their own. His gaze darted down before locking with hers again. “You’re making it worse.”

Well, that was an understatement.

Wait, what were they talking about, again?

Claire was tempted to ask him for clarification, seeing as how, at this point, he could easily be referring to an infinite number of things and be absolutely and undeniably correct. In the back of her mind, she was still mad at him, her anger simmering just under the surface – for dropping the Alan Grant bomb on her like this, his timing beyond awful. For expecting her to have a say in it.

When the clean-up offer came up, there was a reason she never asked him to say no and stay with her and hold her hand so that she wouldn’t break into a million pieces she’d never know how to put back together again – she didn’t want him to blame her for anything. Not openly, of course. God, no. Owen would never do that. But it was one thing to live with the repercussions of one’s own decisions, and something else entirely to look at another person and see _What if?_ plastered on their face. She did not want to be that person. Not then, and certainly not now.

It would be easier, she was thinking as his thumb kept running over the inside of her wrist, to accept it if she knew the reasons behind his ‘hero-complex’. If he told her everything from the start. She _wanted_ to understand – she genuinely did. But just as she needed him to choose her because of her, he needed her to respect his choices without having to explain them. In a sense, they were both right. And wrong. And, if anything, it made her sad.

The moment stretched between them, until Claire could feel the stillness of the night air and the silence surrounding them interrupted only by the soft lapping of the waves against the sand with her skin. Owen swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. His gaze shifted down to her lips, and to hell with fire, she was certain anyone in a hundred mile radius could easily find them by the deafening sound of her thudding heart.

And then he was suddenly kicking the sand over the flames until they were gone and the darkness wrapped around them. He scooted back, closer to the rocks, pulling her with him. It took Claire a moment or two to figure out that it wasn’t his sudden insanity that sprung him into action, but the sound of the voices above them, low and barely audible, carried away by the breeze, but present and unmistakable nonetheless.

“You said they wouldn’t be able to see us,” she hissed at him.

“You really want to put it to test?” He whispered back, his eyes scanning the dark ridge over their heads.

A few moments later, the voices grew loud enough, and even through the adrenaline-fueled rush of blood in her ears, Claire managed to make out the general direction of the conversation, and the absurdity of it almost made her laugh. It wasn’t that she expected them to be discussing anything top secret and classified, but she certainly didn’t think they’d be talking about a game last night. Baseball? Football? She was too dumbfounded to focus on the technicalities.

And before her brain even knew what she was doing, her arms and legs were moving, fingers gripping the rough edges of the rocks, feet pressing against the uneven surface, as she pulled herself closer to the ledge and peeked cautious over it.

Behind her, Owen cursed under his breath and called her name, his hand reaching to grab her – ankle? – automatically, but he missed his moment, and since raising his voice would’ve given them away, he was left with no other choice but to follow her, crouching as close to the rocks as possible.

“Are you crazy?” He asked her through his teeth, his voice only barely audible, but Claire just waved him off dismissively, her eyes fixed on the three figures – one leading the way, and two others carrying something that looked like a bid suitcase (man, what wouldn’t she do to take a peek inside!) They were all dressed in InGen’s nondescript uniforms that were making them basically blend into the surrounding landscape. It was too dark to make out anything but their silhouettes and the muzzles of their shotguns sticking into the air behind their backs, and the thought of how fast they could drop their load, grab their weapons and put an end to her vacation plans made her shiver.

The good thing was, they didn’t seem to be looking for her and Owen, and for a moment, she was just relieved that, for once, the luck was on their side.

The feeling was short-lived, however, as the next second, Owen’s radio cracked and hissed, coming to life, and in near complete silence, they might have as well set off a string of fire-crackers.

The men whirled around, reaching for their firearms before she could even blink, and then Owen was pulling her down and away, and she was somewhat aware of the yells behind their backs as his walkie-talkie kept spitting out what must have been words but what sounded more like an asthma attack. It wasn’t until a spray of sand hit her calves for the third time that she realized the men were shooting at them, and her heart leaped up to her throat, forgetting how to keep on beating properly because _they were being shot at!_

“Water!” Owen commanded just she started to realize that running in the sand was the absolute worst, and no, she didn’t think that water was a better idea, but seeing as how they seemed to be at a disadvantage, and she was gasping for air, her lungs somehow shrunk to the side of two raisins in the past few minutes, she found herself unable to protest.

No, running on the sand wasn’t all that bad, after all. Especially compared to swimming in hiking boots, and it took her about thirty seconds to figure out that she was going to drown. Except she could feel the water shift and move beside her under Owen’s sure strokes, and her arms kept on working fast, despite the burning pain in her legs and her complete and utter inability to take a proper breath as she wondered how much of the force pulling her down was the overwhelming weight of her guilt.   

They weren’t actually going to swim to Nublar, were they?! Where exactly were they—

It was then that the dark form of a speedboat materialized right in front of her as if from thin air, its headlights off, its engine dead.

And then strong hands were pulling her up and into the boat, and she was coughing out the salt water she didn’t even notice swallowing, her knees giving in underneath her, her heavy, wet clothes weighing her down. Owen landed on the floor beside her, panting and dripping the water all over the place, both of them trying and mostly failing to catch their breaths.

When Barry started the engine again, she clutched the railing and pulled herself up to look back at the beach where people were still yelling, barking orders at one another, their voices muffled from this far away. She saw the flashlight beams swiping over the sand and the water, and her instinct was to duck down, but there was no way they would see her without knowing where to look, and before she knew it, the coast disappeared in the darkness altogether.

Owen stood up at well, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. “What was that? Are you insane?” Incredulous, he pointing back to Sorna.

“Excuse me?” Claire’s jaw dropped in shock.

“You could’ve gotten us both killed!” He snapped.

“ _I_ could’ve gotten us killed? And who kept the radio on?”

“It was our means of communication…”

“And what good would it have done if one of those bullets didn’t miss the target?” She interjected.

Owen threw his hands up in the air with a frustrated grunt.

“All’s well that ends well,” Barry noted diplomatically and handed Claire a blanket, and it was only then that she realized how violently she was shivering in her wet clothes as the wind whipped and tore around them.

The blanket smelled of cigarette smoke and was scratchy to the touch, but she wrapped it around her shoulders, willing her teeth to stop chattering – oddly enough, Owen’s searing glare did nothing but heat her cheeks up in annoyance. “I was just trying to see what they were doing,” she pointed out.

“By dying?” Owen rolled his eyes.

“Oh, stop being so melodramatic. You don’t have to overreact…”

“I’m not overreacting. I’m underreacting because as far death wishes go--”

“See? This is what I’m talking about!” She huffed.

“—this one sucked!”

Barry chuckled and muttered something in French under his breath, which earned him a stern and disapproving look from Claire.

Owen frowned. “What did he say?” He turned to Barry, “What did you say?”

Shaking his head and not bothering to hide his amusement, Barry replied, “I said you two fight like a married couple.”

\---

“This is what I was telling you, Claire. It’s some kind of top secret stuff.” Lowery said, pointing at the screen before him.

She rubbed her eyes that felt raw and full of sand due to the lack of sleep and peered stubbornly at the document, trying to see the meaning of it past the words that looked longer and more complicated than strictly necessary.

Her gaze darted toward a man sitting at another workstation and bobbing his head slightly to what she assumed was music spilling from the comically large headphone perched on the top of his head before turning to Lowery again.

She chewed thoughtfully on her lip. “Can you tell where it was opened from?” She asked at last.

He considered her question for a moment. “I can try to track down their IP address if it’s not hidden,” he suggested if a little uncertainly.

“But it doesn’t _say_ that it’s a new hybrid, does it?” Owen asked from the other side of Lowery’s desk.

“It doesn’t say that it’s not,” Lowery shrugged. “It’s signed and approved by Wu,” he added.

Owen met Claire’s eyes over his head, his jaw set tight.

“Okay,” she said, running her hand through her hair. “Send it all to me. And for heaven’s sake, delete any trace of your own snooping.”

“You think I have a death wish?” Lowery muttered as his fingers started flying over the keyboard. “I can’t believe you actually went there.”

“You and I both,” Claire responded with a sigh.

Behind them, the elevator doors dinged open, and Harris stepped out.

He paused for a moment to swipe the Control Room with a quick, assessing glance, before his eyes landed on Owen, narrowing minutely.

“Grady!” He growled, marching furiously toward the three of them. “Who gave you the right to go on a joyride on one of the corporate boats?”

Owen blinked, too absorbed in an entirely different conversation to react at once.

“I’m afraid that was my fault, Mr. Harris.” Claire stepped in before he had a chance to respond. “I needed someone to take the contractors back to the mainland, and Mr. Grady was kind enough to offer his help.”

“Is that so?” Harris snorted. “Well, _Mr. Grady_ should’ve been kind enough to clear it with me first. Maybe next time your boy-toy can run errands for you in his free time.” His finger jabbed at Claire’s chest, and it took her more willpower than she ever knew she possessed to ignore the implication and not respond accordingly.

“Do you not need this hand, Harris?” Owen asked in an almost lazy voice, although it didn’t escape her attention that he squared his shoulders and his hand tightened into a fist. If anything, he could probably punch the palpable animosity hanging in the air.

Harris turned his attention to Owen, his eyes narrowed in that predatory way that made her chest tighten. “I don’t think you understand the meaning of the word superior.”

“Why don’t you explain it to me in detail.”

Claire wedged herself between the two men and leveled Harris with a look. “I’m sure this will not be necessary.”

“Do you think you could stop ordering my men around, Ms. Dearing?” He inquired.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sure we will.” Another snort. “Grady, you’re on vet patrol. Get back to work and stop wasting everyone’s time.”

“What a douche.” Lowery shook his head when the head of the InGen Operations had finally left.

"He _is_ your superior, Owen. You can't be picking up fights with him as you please." 

“And he doesn't get to talk to you like that," Owen countered. "Can we feed him to the T-Rex?” He asked, his expression contemplative.

“I can’t encourage you to do that,” Claire said with reproach.

He puckered his lips. “But you’d look away if that happened… by accident, right?”

“I would not—I could talk to Caldwell, you know,” she suggested.

Owen shook his head. “It’s fine.” A small wicked smile crept onto his face. “Besides, we wouldn’t want anyone to think I get special treatment for sleeping with the boss.”

“We’re not…” Claire began to protest.

“TMI!” Lowery called from behind them, flinching. “I’m _right here_ , guys, and I don’t even want to…” He cleared his throat, his gaze flicking toward the elevator for a moment. “You think he’s in on this whole thing?” And added with a shrug, “Someone’s gotta be.”

\---

“You can’t run away from your life,” Karen told her once.

Admittedly, she was referring to Claire’s promotion and relocation to the ‘godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere’, which, in her sister’s opinion, was the end of the world and a suicide in the most literal meaning of the word.

The joke was still on her after the incident, but Claire never brought it up.

To be honest, she wasn’t trying to run away, never had been. Not the way Karen saw it.

Although she wouldn’t mind being able to escape the never ending loop of nightmares and teeth and blood and screams her nights were made of and filled with to the brim. She didn’t think she’d seen this much blood on that day at the park. Surely not rivers of it, but in her dreams, it would envelop her, sucks her in, until she’d drowning, drowning, drowning—

Claire snapped her eyes open, her breath heavy and forced as if there was not enough air in the room to fill her lungs properly, the sheets soaked with sweat. She rolled over, reaching instinctively for Owen, and then jerked her hand off when it touched the cool pillow. There was no Owen. Because Owen was dead.

Was he? He was, she just saw—

No, couldn’t be. He couldn’t be…

Her mind was racing, trying to catch up with reality, to draw the line between what had actually happened and what her broken brain made up because it didn’t know any better.

She _knew_ she was safe. She _knew_ it was over. But she didn’t _feel_ it, and she needed—needed—

Claire grabbed the phone and the car keys, and before her consciousness even registered what was going on, she was out of her room, out of the hotel, and her foot was flooring the gas, her hands turning the steering wheel, as the wind spilling into the rolled down widows whipped her hair.

She needed–

The lights were on in Owen’s bungalow when she pulled up to it not fifteen minutes later after breaking just about every law of common sense and driving at top speed down the narrow, winding roads, by some miracle not ending up in a ditch. The tight knot in her stomach eased up right away and the whole thing was starting to look beyond ridiculous.

And what if he had company?

But before the thought even entered her mind, she was already on the porch and knocking on his door, only now realizing that in all that hurry, she didn’t think to change out of her nightwear. Or to put on shoes.

Owen opened the door five seconds later. He was wearing an old ratty t-shirt and cargo shorts and his hair was sticking out at odd angles – and even though this image had nothing to do with the worst day of her life, she could suddenly hear the screeches of the Pteranodons in the sky and smell the gasoline on him and feel the blazing sun that left her with a low-cut sunburn for weeks. It was an odd sensation, but the most important thing was that, standing before her now, Owen Grady was unmistakable alive.

Behind him, the TV was on in the living room and on the screen, Bruce Willis was dealing with Christmas that was almost as bad as hers a few months ago. The irony of it most definitely wasn’t lost on Claire.

Meanwhile, Owen leaned against the doorframe, his lips twitched into a smug smirk, arms crossed over his chest. “Please tell me it’s a booty call,” he drawled, an eyebrow cocked curiously at her. And then he straightened up when she just kept staring at him, her lips quivering slightly. His face fell instantly, his grin gone without a trace. “Claire, what happened?” His hand closed around her wrist as he pulled her inside and kicked the door shut behind her. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

His gaze ran over her frantically, panic beginning to pool at the bottom of his eyes as his palm landed on her cheek and tipped her face up so that she was looking at him.

Slowly, Claire shook her head and swallowed past what felt like a golf ball stuck in her throat. Why was he asking _her_ that?

“I had to…” she started and faltered, unsure of how to proceed, the words she was reaching for somehow slipping from her grasp. He was alive, and she couldn’t understand how because she just saw— “I needed to…” 

“Hey, c’mere.” Owen stepped toward her, making sure to maintain the eye contact. Her eyes, green and translucent and often downright hypnotic, were huge and terrified, and it unsettled him more than anything else, leaving his chest gripped in a tight vice. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and then swore quietly under his breath. “Jesus, Claire, you’re freezing.” Which made no sense because the past few days had been hot as hell and the air flowing through the open windows now was short of scorching, and yet she was shivering. Badly. “Let’s get you warm, okay? Look at me.”

She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the bathroom where he started the water in the shower. He slipped his hands under the hem of her tank, and Claire let him pull it off. The rest of her clothes followed suit, tilling the tile floor, before he shed his own off.

By the time, she stepped into the bathtub, the whole room was filled with steam that clung to her skin and tangled in her hair. For a moment, Claire simply stood under the spray of water, so hot it was almost scalding, marveling in the comfort of having it pound on her skin, wash over her body. And yet, no matter how hot it was, she still felt cold to her bones.

The shower curtain rustled behind her back, and she turned around to find Owen watching her like she a time bomb that could go off at any moment. She had no reassurance for him. Or for herself. Tonight, the world was a scary place.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m right here,” his voice was soft, but steady and sure, and she clung to it like a lifeline. _It’s over, Claire. Let it go, it’s over_.

Owen tugged her closer, gathering her in his arms when she didn’t resist, and then it was just his body against hers, warm and solid, the beating of his heart vibrating into her, and she could finally breathe again. He was saying something, his lips pressed to her hair, his words blending together and turning into white noise, their meaning not as important as the soothing tone they were said in. She let out a shuddering breath and rested her forehead between his collarbones, her eyes fluttering shut.

”I thought you were dead,” she whispered into his skin, and he went completely still – maybe because it was the first coherent thing she’d said in the last half hour, or maybe because the thought was as unnerving to him as it was to her. “I woke up and thought she ate you.” _The I-Rex_ , she wanted to add but knew she didn’t need to.

“I’m tougher than that,” Owen told her lightly, and she chose to pretend she didn’t hear the strain between his words, like a string only barely holding them together, ready to snap at any moment. “It’s over now, Claire. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He cupped her face in his hands, wanting to add that he’d always been right here, but she was looking back at him with those impossible eyes of hers, and he was momentarily disoriented, unsure of where he was, or what he was going to say, or what his name was, for that matter.

Tiny beads of steam were clinging to her eyelashes and her hair, and it was like he’d seen her before but never actually _saw_ her. Her gaze slipped down to his lips, and all of a sudden, Owen was very aware of her body pressed to his and the way she was no longer shaking so much as melting into him, her breathing deep and even whereas his shortened by the moment. The relief of having her back in the present was so strong it all but knocked him off his feet. Threading his fingers through her hair, he brushed his lips to the top of her forehead, to her temple, and when his mouth trailed down to her cheek, Claire turned her face up and captured it with hers with a small sigh that turned into a soft moan in the back of her throat.

It probably wouldn’t have been a bad idea to talk this through for once, but then she threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself up on her tiptoes to press herself closer to his chest, her mouth opening up for him. With an almost primal grunt, Owen lifted her up until her legs wrapped around his hips and her back was pressed against the cool tile wall, her hands _every-fucking-where_ at once.

He paused and pulled away after a few moments, breathing hard, and Claire’s eyes flew open in confusion.

“You sure--” he started in a low, hoarse voice because if she changed her mind five seconds from now, he would probably die, but she was nodding silently even before he knew how he was going to finish that sentence, and his lips were on hers again, one of his hands sliding around her back and down, down, down.

And then it wasn’t just her, or just him. It was them, and her mouth was on his neck, her fingers trying to hold on to his slippery skin, his name falling from her lips like a plea, like a prayer. The sound of it shot a deep, possessive satisfaction through him – because she was his, every single part of her, and it was driving him crazy, pushing him over the edge, breaking him apart and pulling him back together again.

“So much for keeping you warm,” Owen murmured into the crook of her neck later, when it finally occurred to him that the water had turned cold without either of them noticing. Slowly, carefully, he lowered her back to the floor, and Claire had no idea how she didn’t just slide down the wall in a shapeless mass of glowing skin and melted bones, grateful for his arms encircled around her waist.

And it was such an odd and ridiculous thing to say, she couldn’t help but laugh.

He wrapped her up in a towel, pausing to kiss her again, and then put on his own clothes and disappeared in the bedroom only to come back half a minute later with a spare t-shirt for her. Claire raised her arms obediently to let him slip it on over her head.

“You’re very easy to deal with sometimes,” Owen chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with laughter.

“Oh, shut up,” she swatted him off, fighting off a smile and shaking her head like he was a five-year old running on sugar high.

“Ya know, I’ve always wanted to get you out of your clothes, but getting you into mine is… something.” Honestly, if it was up to him, she’d wear nothing but his shirts for the rest of her life.

“And there goes the biggest accomplishment of your life,” Claire commented dryly.

“Hey, you okay?” Owen stepped closer and placed his hands on her hips, his eyes searching her face – not so distressed anymore, her cheeks flushed instead of ghostly pale. Alive. So much more _alive_.  

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and glanced away for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here like this--”

He tucked a strand of her mostly wet hair behind her ear and pointed out, “You shouldn’t have left.”

“I panicked,” she admitted.

“So I noticed. You done panicking yet?”

“Working on it.”

Owen let out a long breath, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her in to plant a kiss on her forehead. “C’mon, you can work on it while you sleep.”

\---

He woke up a few hours later with Claire half-sprawled over him, her face tucked into his shoulder. Her breathing was deep and even, her hair a puffy mess, and a surge of affection shot through him, sparkling along his skin at the sight of it – god, he loved the Claire that wasn’t all sharp angles and straight lines and forced smiles. And he missed her. He missed _this_. He missed this almost as much as he missed everything else, and it was a strange feeling – almost like a secret he wanted to keep to himself for the time being, to let it truly sink in.

Claire stirred and stretched as if sensing that he was awake.

“Hey,” she murmured, kissing his collarbone, her eyelids still heavy and her voice thick with sleep.

“Hey, yourself,” Owen echoed and brushed her hair out of her face.

“What time is it?”

“Around noon.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Easy,” Owen caught her by the shoulders when she nearly sprung up into the air, pulling her down again. “It’s seven…ish.”

“That’s not funny,” she scowled at him.

“You should’ve seen your face, like, five seconds ago,” he told her, and she was rolling her eyes, but also smiling despite herself, because how could she not? “We’re staying here today, right?” A lazy grin spread over his face, his gaze darting to her lips for a moment.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She asked, head tilted quizzically.

“Well, most of it is ancient history, so…” He wiggled his eyebrows are her, and then let out a displeased grunt when his phone started to vibrate on the nightstand, reaching for it without hesitation because ancient history or not, but answering the calls wasn’t exactly negotiable in his line of work. “Grady.” He frowned, and Claire’s smile disappeared by the second as she watched his face darken. “Wait, wait, slow down…. What do you mean – killed?!”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some shit's gonna hit the fan soon, just saying! I hope you guys are having fun :) Spoiler alert: I have so much stuff planned, I don't think I'll finish this story anytime soon. Apologies for that! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much, much, much appreciated! :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while. Sorry, guys, real life got in the way. This chapter is rather long(-ish?) though, so I hope it makes up for the wait :)) Thanks again for your patience and lovely comments! Your support means everything! 
> 
> WARNING! Lots of shameless fluff ahead ;) I regret nothing!

_The brightness of air_  
_Out walking somewhere, and when they ask you_  
_Just tell them that you knew me back when_  
_Under the blue sky..._  
_"Sky High" by Ben Folds Five_

Owen had been living on the island for about two weeks before the raptors hatched – long enough to get familiar with the park, but not to get bored with it. Wu insisted on imprinting – it wasn’t just about having a shortcut to teaching the raptors to jump through the fire hoops, but more about developing a bond, building trust, actually connecting with them.

At the time, Owen didn’t treat his job as a _Wow, I’m gonna work with real fucking dinosaurs_ kind of thing. He needed a change, preferably with a solid paycheck and a limited human interaction. At the time, he’d probably say yes to training pretty much anything. He needed a way out, and how farther out could he possibly get than 65 million years into the past?  It wasn’t supposed to be that much different from what he had done before. Sure the raptors were toothier than anything he’d ever worked with in the NAVY, but they still were just animals, right?

What no one told him was that the bond ran both ways – watching the raptors climb clumsily out of their eggshells snapped something inside of him, filling him with something akin parental pride. And as the lab staff tried to take measurements and log the data, Owen cradles their small bodies in his hands, wondering just what exactly had he gotten himself into. He wasn’t sure it was what InGen had in mind, but he couldn’t undo it even if he tried.

He should’ve known there’d be a price to pay for it from the start.

The distress signal came from the valley, and it took Owen five minutes to pick up Barry and get there, and by the time he threw his car into park, the southeast part of the sector in question was buzzing with life and people milling all over, their voices loud and edgy.

It wasn’t the people he saw first, however, but a massive body of a Triceratops lying on its side, its frill sticking awkwardly into the air. A vet truck was parked not far from the animal, its back doors open and one of the ACU men sitting inside of it, sporting a blood-soaked gauze on the shoulder and impressive rips on the pants.

“Crap,” Barry muttered as they climbed out of Owen’s jeep and approached the dinosaur that was undeniably and irrevocably dead, its body striped with long slash wounds. “Owen…”

“I know.” He pursed his lips into a thin line. “Those are raptor’s claw marks.”

He reached for his radio, but it was then that Claire’s car skidded to a halt right behind his. She pushed the door open, her eyes scanning the carcass of the Triceratops and the injured man before finally landing on him. How she managed to go back to the hotel, change (“I’m not going anywhere in my pajama,” was her response when she found out that it wasn’t one of the park’s employees that met their final demise) and come here so fast was beyond him.

“Owen,” she started toward him, her steps brisk and urgent. “It’s Blue...”

He exchanged a quick look with Barry and his frown deepened. “You sure?”

“Lowery called.” Claire pushed her hair out of her face. “Her cage is empty.”

Owen cursed under his breath.

Harris marched up to them then, his expression dark and foreboding. Owen squared his shoulders instinctively – dealing with this man was the last thing he needed right now, and yet here they were.

“See what your pet did?” Harris pointed at the ACU guy, his voice dripping with accusation as if it was Owen and not Blue who ripped the Triceratops to pieces and attacked the man.

Owen bristled at his choice of words. “She’s not a pet. She’s a wild animal--”

“She’s dangerous.” Harris cut him off.

“Everything here is dangerous. Didn’t they tell you that before shipping you off here?”

Eyes narrowed, Harris spat. “I would recommend termination on the spot.”

He might have as well punched Owen in the gun. Air knocked out of his lungs, Owen felt his hands curl into tight fists. “You can’t--”

“Actually, I can.” Harris sneered.

“Actually, you can’t,” Claire said in a calm, composed voice that did not in any way reflect her inner turmoil and the way her insides coiled. She leveled Harris with a hard look. “There are protocols and they specifically state that termination is only warranted in an emergency situation. This is not it.”

He turned to her as if he’d just noticed her standing there. “It can be arranged.”

“I’m sure your superiors would be delighted to know more about that.” Claire agreed with the kind of easiness that made Owen’s skin crawl. It wasn’t quite a threat – not yet – but Harris definitely detected a dangerous promise neither one of them wanted her to carry out.  

He pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his head in unmasked annoyance. “Just get her back. The last thing we need in this place is a raptor on the loose.”

“She’s got a tracker now.” Owen said more to himself than to Claire when Harris walked away to check on the injured member of his team and Barry went over to talk to the vets clustered around the dead animal.

“See? And you thought they were useless.” She noted.

“Is this your way of saying _I told you so_?” He asked, trying to sound lighthearted but his voice remained strained, his whole body itching to spring into action.

For a moment, the corners of her mouths tugged up ever so slightly. “You said that, not me.”

“Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair (God, she could _feel_ the wheels in his head turn), and repeated, “Okay. Go back to the resort. Barry and I will take a couple of guys and go find Blue.”

Claire frowned. “What? No, I’m coming with you.”

“It’s not safe,” he protested.

“I can take care of myself,” she huffed, chin tipped up stubbornly, eyes uncompromising – Claire Dearing, Operations Manager in the flesh. 

“I know.” He couldn’t argue with that.

“But?”

Owen glanced around them, then stepped closer to her, his expression conflicted, almost pained. She wasn’t sure she could stand the panic in his eyes. “Look, in no situation would I ever _not_ put your safety first.” His voice dropped and he swallowed, hard, while her heart thudded against her ribs. “And if shit goes south… I don’t want to make that choice. Please, Claire, go back.”

Claire bit her lip, gaze darting toward the massive form of the dead dinosaur, the bloodied man in the back of the vet truck, the unsettled people speaking in hushed, sharp voices. She knew that they all had a background in military and special forces, but even so, nothing on this island could qualified as ‘another day in the office’. Certainly not this.

And through it all, she could feel the weight of Owen’s words press down on her like a cement block. He was good at telling people what to do, at barking the orders when the situation was drastic enough to call for it. He was the cool and composed one – he only pleaded when he was scared.

“It’s okay. We got this,” he added, sensing her hesitation.

She looked up at him again, hoping her face was more stern than worried. “Just… try not to get yourself killed.”

Nothing here was safe, that much they both knew for sure. There were goddamn teeth and claws around every corner, everything in this place wanted to eat them, and would do so without thinking twice. And she trusted him – she really and truly trusted him to know what he was doing. It was everything else that terrified her to the bones.

Claire Dearing the professional had no idea how to deal with that.

\---

_Zara’s funeral took place two weeks after the massacre at the park. Not, not the funeral, a service – Claire reminded herself. There could be no funeral without a body, and Zara’s was never recovered, for obvious reasons._

_Claire planned to go. Wanted to go. Zara had been her assistant for close to 4 years now. They were not friends, exactly – as a woman in a position of power, Claire was careful about setting boundaries and maintaining strictly professional relationships at work; or tried to, at least – but they were the next best thing. She was, after all, invited to Zara’s wedding. The one that was supposed to happen a few weeks after that fateful day that changed everything. Instead of a white dress and a walk down the aisle, her family got a letter from Masrani Global, expressing their ‘sincere condolences’ and a settlement cheque. The thought never ceased to make Claire sick to her stomach._

_She wanted to at least be able to tell them how sorry she was for their loss in person._

_Instead, the corporate lawyers stuffed that day to the brim with meetings and debriefings and all kinds of crap Claire half suspected they made up on purpose – just because the conveniently leaked footage portrayed her more as a hero than a villain didn’t mean they encouraged her mingling with the family of a deceased. Not when the company was facing enough lawsuits to break the world record._

_By the time she made it home that night, she was feeling like someone pulled her brain out of her skull, put it in a washing machine, and ran a heavy load cycle a couple of times before returning it to her. She felt numb and empty and a thousand years old._

_“Hey,” Owen leaped up from the couch where he was watching the reruns of The Amazing Race on mute when she entered the room and her face started to crumple._

_Zara was dead, and the only thing Claire could think of was that she was grateful to no end that it wasn’t her family that had a service paid for by Masrani Corporation and an empty grave, the guilt of this realization knocking all air out of her._

_Owen’s arms locked around her, and she allowed herself to cry until there was nothing left inside of her, her hands twisting the tear-soaked fabric of his shirt as if she didn’t trust him not to disappear._

_The guilt, on the other hand, seemed to be there to stay._

\---

It was past ten in the evening by the time Claire made it to the raptors’ paddock. Unlike the forest surrounding it, the cage was brightly lit, the projectors chasing away the shadows.

She climbed up to the catwalk over the paddock and found Owen sitting on the grate floor, his brows drawn together, his forehead creased and crowded with concern. Down below, Blue was running in circles, pausing now and then to sniff the air or give him a quick glance, aware of his presence but not particularly interested.

He didn’t look up when Claire approached, her tennis shoes soundless on the metal beneath her, and sat down beside him, but – and maybe she was reading something into it – his shoulders relaxed visibly.

“Are you going to sleep here?” Claire asked, trying to keep her voice light.

“Hadn’t decided yet,” Owen responded with a sigh.

“She’ll be fine.” She said. “We’re going to reinforce the paddock and, hopefully, it’ll never happen again.” Blue let out a string of excited chirps, distracted by something in the dark, and disappeared behind the trees. “You don’t actually think Harris would do something to her, would you?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” he scoffed.

“That’s illegal. And punishable,” Claire pointed out.

“What would it matter, Claire, if he put a bullet in her head and called it a self-defence?”

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Sorry.” Owen squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, weary breath. "Long day.”

She looked around, taking in tall concrete walls rising about thirty feet into the air. “How did she even get out?”

“You’d be surprised.”

They stayed quiet for a few moments, listening to the soft rustling of the trees in the night, the fresh wind blowing from the ocean shuffling the leaves, lifting off a thick blanket of the stuffy, humid air that crept over the island in the afternoon. It was getting warmer with each passing day, the smell of flowers and soil growing stronger, seeping into their skins.

“Look, about that thing you said earlier…” Claire began, feeling like she was walking on eggshells around something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I don’t want to cloud your judgement.”

 “I think it’s safe to say we’re waaaaay past the point when it was a conscious choice.”

He offered her a small, if a little rueful smile that made her heart take a leap from Empire State Building and land somewhere in the clouds.

It was an odd feeling – not unpleasant exactly, but unnerving and confusing. Not something from the books – if there were books, at that. It was ironic how she said no to a second date without even considering it – although she did appreciate the gesture because God knew his “Well, that was fun, let’s do it again sometime” was nothing but an attempt at being polite after they had wasted two hours of each other’s lives – and now she could barely imagine going one day without him.

For a girl who’d built her entire life around checklists – because they made her feel safe and in control and kept her anxiety at bay – this wasn’t just uncharted territory. This was a middle of a goddamn Bermuda Triangle, as far as she was concerned. And definitely something she’d rather think about later, when there was no restlessly pacing dinosaur some twenty feet below her.  

“You need to stop butting heads with Harris, Owen,” Claire said.

“But it’s so much fun,” he deadpanned.

“Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

He snorted. “He can’t fire me.”

“Well… yeah, actually, he can.” She proper her chin on his shoulder, her forehead almost touching his temple. “And then I’d have to rehire you. Do you have any idea how much paperwork that is?”

His soft chuckle reverberated through her body.

“Since when do you shy away from a little challenge?”

“If you’re trying to get me to reconsider, it’s working.” Owen turned his head, capturing her lips with his, feeling her smile against his mouth. “Or not,” she admitted.  

“I thought you didn’t need me,” he reminded her.

“I said I _didn’t want_ to need you. Do you ever listen when we talk?”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, unable to hold back the grin that could easily crack his face open and blind them both with all that light she was igniting inside of him. “You can be hard to listen to. You’re very distracting. I mean, have you _seen_ you?”

It was silly and corny. And, damn it, sweet.

“Smooth, _Mr. Grady_ ,” Claire scoffed, trying to fight off a smile and failing, for the most part. “I’m going home now because it has indeed been a long day. You’re welcome to come over when you’re done doing… whatever it is you’re doing here. I’ll keep the door unlocked.”

“That’s very… bold of you.”

She shrugged. “Living on the edge.”

“Claire?”

His fingers coiled around her wrist before she had a chance to stand up while his other hand cupped the back of her head, drawing her in for another kiss – slow and deep and full of promise of everything they didn’t have time for at the moment.

There was a reason they called it falling. He could see it now.

“Mmm, you were saying?”

His thumb ran over her cheekbone. “I’ll see you later.”

And as he watched her walk away, Owen wondered if it was possible to get imprinted on a human.

Blue chittered, watching him curiously from below, head tipped up and tilted slightly.

“You,” Owen pointed a finger at her, “got me in a lot of trouble today.”  

They found her rather easily in the early afternoon– because of course Claire was right and the trackers were god sent when it came to locating the animals. The problem was, Blue wandered into the territory claimed by Dimorphodons, and while they couldn’t care less about another dinosaur roaming around, they seemed to have been strongly opposed to having humans anywhere near their habitat, which gave ACU one hell of a time. No one got hurt, but it wasn’t the kind of experience either one of them found enjoyable, all things considered. Which also brought the issue of the flying species and the fact that they needed to be dealt with one way or the other. Which kind of made Owen’s brain hurt.

Blue snorted at him and took off. Man, they definitely needed to do something about that paddock.

It took him another two hours to finally get back to the resort after he checked and rechecked the security and the locks a ridiculous number of times. Yes, he knew his behaviour bordered on paranoia. No, knowing it didn’t make it any better.

On the bright side, Claire was more than happy to see him.

\---

Owen wasn’t the one to snoop, never had been. But Claire was still asleep, and his mind was on fire, and between staying in bed and probably risking waking her up and inviting himself for a tour around her suite, he ultimately chose the latter.

It was the first time he saw her place in the daylight, and with the sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, it looked even bigger and airier somehow. He looked out at the park stretching to the horizon, stunned by how tranquil it seemed from above, how safe. It was so easy to believe that.  

His gaze lingered for a moment on her entertainment system. And wouldn’t it be fun to bring his Xbox over and experience it in HD? Or HHHD, more like it. Much like her place in San Diego, the suite wasn’t stuffed with knickknacks, but it wasn’t impersonal either. His gaze slid along the row of books, and then fixed on a framed picture on the shelf.

It was one of Claire, Karen, and the boys, all of them wearing party hats and beaming brighter than sunshine. Little Gray was in Claire’s arms, holding more to her almost waist-long hair than anything else, and Zach missed a couple of front teeth, and boy, could they smile! Claire looked like a freaking _mermaid_ with that wavy mane of hers, and so beautiful it hurt.

“That was Zach’s 9th birthday.”

Owen looked up to find her standing in the doorway leading to the bedroom, dressed in his pale button-up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. And yes, he’d seen her wear a lot of stuff, but _this_ was seriously mind-blowing. Shoulder propped against the doorjamb, she watched him curiously, her arms folded over her chest. And a soft smile playing on her lips was so un- _fucking_ -believable he wanted to stop the time and live in this moment forever. He wanted to take that smile and frame it and put it on the wall.  

“We took them to Disney World,” Claire added when he didn’t say anything. “Right before I ‘fell off the face of the Earth’, as Karen puts it.”

Owen’s lips twitched into a smirk. “That’s not entirely untrue.” He studied her for a few moments. “How come you live in a hotel?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “As opposed to what?”

“I don’t know, a _villa_?”

“It’s always been more convenient this way. They’ve had room service and house cleaning here, it was close to the office. There’s a gym and a spa downstairs.” She shrugged. “And dry-cleaning, too.”

“A spa? When was the last time you went to a spa?” His eyes narrowed skeptically. “Do you even know where it is, exactly?”

“Asks the guy who’s barely left the island in what, three years?” She countered as she approached him, and he reached for her almost instinctively, tucking her into his body, her arm snaking around his waist, her lips ghosting briefly over his collarbone.

Owen gave the picture another thoughtful look. “You look… different.” He placed it back on the shelf.

“Younger?” Claire offered.

He shook his head. “Happy.”

She stayed quite for a while, studying the familiar image and trying to see it through his eyes. It didn’t feel right somehow. Like the person on the photo was the version of her she didn’t know how to remember anymore. It felt like another lifetime. Was that other Claire even real, she thought. Or was she a shell waiting to be cracked open? The one thing she knew for sure was that either answer was equally unsettling.  

She was still trying to pick up the pieces of herself.

Some of them didn’t fit yet, and maybe never would.  

“There hasn’t been much _happy_ going on lately,” Claire admitted with a sigh. “Until just recently, that is.”

“Huh? Wait, does it mean I can take credit for at least some of it?” Owen leaned against the back of the couch, hands resting on the sides of her waist. What was she thinking looking at him like that? Was she trying to burn him alive?

“Some?” She echoed with a small smile, then cleared her throat. “So, you know, I’ve been thinking…”

He regarded her suspiciously. “Oh-ho.”

“I haven’t said anything yet,” she scowled.

“I know the look.” Owen grumbled.

“Anyway, I need your help to get into Harris’s office.”

She might have as well said she was going to break into Pentagon.

“I knew it!” He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Wait, why?”

“Well, because his office used to belong to Hoskins, and we know that Hoskins had been working with Wu, so I was thinking that maybe there still were some documents left. And if we can find the evidence connecting Wu’s experiments to Sorna, then maybe we can stop him from creating something that would get people killed, and, let’s face it, it would eventually. There’d always be someone who’d look at a dinosaur and think _cool_ instead of _dangerous_. There’d always be someone delusional enough to buy into something like that.” She said all this on one breath, making him wonder how long had she been mulling it over. And knowing Claire and her tendency to think ten steps ahead, the answer was probably ‘a while’. “I’d do it by myself--”

“Of course you would,” Owen ran a weary hand down his face.

“—and just have Lowery watch me on the security cams to let me know if someone was coming, but I actually want him to turn them off so that there’d be no evidence of my ever being there. That’s why I need you to keep an eye on… the company.”

“Jesus, Claire…”

“Look, it’s no big deal--”

“But it is a big deal,” he interjected. “What are you gonna say when you get caught?”

“No one is going to get caught.” She assured him confidently. “And we could say we were looking for Harris and the door was open.” 

He still wasn’t convinced. “Huh? And we were looking for him why?”

“I don’t know, some park business. I’ll make something up.” She responded dismissively. “Or we could always say you were after your daily dose of a near fist fight.”

He barked out a short laugh. “Is this you making something up?”

Claire pursed her lips into a thin, stubborn line. “You have better ideas?”

“I do, actually. We forget about Harris and his office – because it’s _insane_! – and you introduce me to that Jacuzzi of yours.” Owen pulled her closer and added wattage to his smile for good measure. “How about that?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed.

“Okay, let me put it this way – no! No fucking way.”

“You’re really hard to reason with when you look like this.” Her gaze trailed down his bare chest and lingered for a few seconds on his boxers, one eyebrow quirked. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

He blinked at her in confusion. “How’s that supposed to help?”

A comeback was about to roll off her tongue when her phone chimed.

“I have to get this.” Claire slipped out of his grasp, grabbing the phone from the coffee table and padding toward the balcony door. “Hey, Karen…. No, it’s fine, I’m up. Is everything okay?”  

“Hey, Karen!” Owen called from across the room, loud enough for Claire’s sister not to miss it.

Claire’s eyes widened almost comically in horror.

“Yes, it’s him...” She admitted, glowering at Owen who was watching her with a shit-eating grin. She gave him a murderous look and mouthed silently _Thank you!_ “Time? I don’t know, 7.30?” Pause. “Well, yeah.” Pause. “Yes, I’m at home.” Pause. “Not _that_ early… KAREN!” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a slow breath, ignoring what probably was Owen choking on his laughter, her cheeks almost scarlet red. “Are the boys alright? … Good. Can I call you back?”

She tossed the phone onto the couch and turned to him, fuming. “Happy?” His smile brightened. “You have _got_ to help me now.”

He crinkled his eyebrows. “Why? Did I miss something?”

“Don’t give me that face.” Arms folded across her chest, she wondered if she could incinerate him with her glare. “Thanks to you, my sister now knows more about my love life than strictly necessary.”

“Please!” He rolled his eyes so hard Claire was certain he caught a glimpse of his brain. “Your family thought we were together long before it actually happened.”

“Again, whose fault was that?” She retorted.

Owen’s jaw hung open in feigned shock. “How was that a _fault_?” Admittedly, she hadn’t seen herself with that tranq gun in the middle of what felt like the end of the world, all fire and bright green eyes, and he couldn’t even hear anything past the blood rush in his ears. He’d wanted to kiss her so bad and for so long he’d have probably gone for it even if it ended up being the last thing he’d have done in this life. He’d kiss her even if her entire family stood right there. With a resigned sigh, he tugged her to him. “Fine. In and out, Claire.”

It wasn’t like he was going to win this round anyway.

“You’re no fun,” she shook her head, placing her hands on his shoulders again, her lips curved into a contemplative smile again. “So, about that Jacuzzi…”

\---

“ _Okay. Aaaand…. You’re good to go_.”

Lowery’s voice was distant and muffled as if he was speaking from another planet and not from a couple of miles away.

“Thanks.” Claire peeked from around the corner and then stepped into the corridor leading to Harris’s office, with Owen right behind her. She chose to do it in the afternoon on the off chance that the building would be empty, and so far it appeared to be more deserted than not. Of course, they risked running into someone, and she’d be impressed by the sheer amount of luck if they didn’t, but being caught doing what they were about to do at night would’ve been much harder to explain, all things considered.

“ _Claire, I still don’t think_ \--” Lowery began.

“I’ll call you when we’re done.” She hung up before he had a chance to go into _1001 Reasons Of Why It Was A Bad Idea_ – she’d just heard them all from the man walking silently beside her, his eyes scanning the perimeter as though he was on a mission.

She pulled a key card out of the pocket of her slacks and swiped it through the slot. The lock clicked quietly.

Owen whistled under his breath. “Where did you—No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”

“This was the easiest part.” Claire admitted and pushed the door open.

“Okay, do your magic, Sherlock. What are we looking for, anyway?”

“ _We_ are not looking for anything. _You_ are watching the door, and I… will know what is it when I find it.”

He peeked outside through the crack she’d left for him to do his job as a surveillance camera while the real ones were disconnected, courtesy of Lowery’s magical skills. “How long did it take you to come up with this plan?”

Claire glared at him but chose to ignore the quip before focusing on the task at hand.

Much like Owen’s, Harris’s job wasn’t exactly office-based. She took in the sparse furnishings and decided to start with the desk drawers, not surprised to find only all kind of junk in them – scotch-tape, loose pens, a stapler, post-it notes. Nothing of use. The file cabinets lining the wall appeared to be locked, but maybe she could jimmy them open if they had enough time. She didn’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary.  

“Did they teach you this in Harvard?” Owen asked from his spot by the door.

“No, it was a part of my extra-curricular activities,” Claire responded without batting an eyelash. “For particularly gifted.”

She shot him a pointed look and then leaned over the desk to turn on the computer, singing mental praises to Lowery for getting her the required passcode. InGen’s logo on the desktop greeted her. She entered the database, easily navigating her way through the program she knew fairly well, just from a slightly different side.

“Oh, my God…” she whispered when she found what she was looking for.

“What is it?” Owen asked with alarm.

She typed in a few more commands, her frown deepening with every new window that popped open.

“Harris might not be the bad guy after all. Not THE bad guy, at least.”

Owen crossed the room in two swift strides, joining her by the desk.

“Shit,” he breathed out.

“Yeah,” Claire echoed, her voice miserable.

They both snapped they heads up at the sound of the footsteps in the corridor.

“Shit!” Owen repeated through his teeth, darting back toward the door and closing it as slowly and as soundlessly as possibly.

“Seriously?” Claire hissed. “You had _one_ job!”

He turned the lock on the doorknob. “You wanna talk about it _now_?”

Frankly, she did. For a person who claimed that she was incapable of following the orders (“We’re not in the army, Owen.”), he could occasionally be guilty of it as well. But now they needed to find a way to pull a David Copperfield and she honesty had no idea how.

Her eyes darted frantically around. There was nowhere to hide except under the desk, which couldn’t help in any way seeing as how it had no front panel. Their next best option was perhaps to fold themselves into the drawers.

“Crap,” she muttered as the steps grew louder. Quickly, she closed the program and turned off the computed, willing it to shut off faster and thinking she’d have a goddamn heart attack the longer the screen remained active, only exhaling with what passed for relief in this particular situation when it turned black.

“The window,” Owen whispered urgently as he pulled the pane open.

Harris’s office was on the first floor – albeit an elevated one, but the first nonetheless.

The person paused on the other side of the door just as Owen threw his legs over the windowsill and jumped.

The swipe of the card.

The click of the lock.

Claire slid out and into his arms a second later and the two of them quickly crawled into the bushes running along the perimeter of the building and pressed their backs to the wall, focused on holding their breaths.

Above them, Harris moved around the room, whistling something under his breath. He stopped by the window for a painfully long moment and then pulled it closed.

“We sure know how to have fun,” Owen breathed out with a short, shaky laugh, and Claire couldn’t help but chuckle in response, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, her body buzzing with adrenaline. “Why don’t we do it more often?”

She whacked him half-heartedly on the arm. “Because you have an attention span of an oyster.”

“It was boring,” he protested, and asked, “So, what now?”

She looked up, caught his gaze. “Now we get out of here. And think.”

\---

The next week progressed like nothing had happened.

There was work, of course. Lots of it. Always had been, for that matter – Claire tended to think that 24 hours were not cutting it for Jurassic World; she would have personally preferred something between 36 and 48 just so that she could catch her breath at least occasionally.

They made progress though, and it counted for something. For one thing, the Mosasaurus was no longer a threat to the random passers-by, and this fact alone made her feel like the weight of the world had lifted off her shoulders. Main Street now looked more ghost-town-y than post-apocalyptic, and even though Claire’s heart would clench whenever she’d have to walk up and down it, it felt good to not have a reminder of the Pteranodons’ attack before her eyes.

There wasn’t necessarily a containment plan in place, per se – why herd the animals to the designated zones if the park wasn’t an entertainment facility anymore? But they were trying to count them all and see if any of them needed medical help. There still was an issue of the T-Rex running around, but it was decided to deal with her last so long as she kept away from the resort.

Claire had spent most of her time organizing the hotel clean-up and sending the guests’ belongings back to their respective owners in-between writing progress reports and compiling budget requests to get funds for the construction crews scheduled to work on the remaining paddocks. 

Somehow, along the way, she was formerly introduced to Blue.

 _"Formally_ , _as in she wouldn’t try to rip my throat out?” She inquired in response to Owen’s offer when she stopped by the raptors’ paddock during her lunch break one day._

 _“Well, not through the cage,” he promised her cheekily, which did not sound all that reassuring_.

The experience was unnerving - she knew better than to underestimate those animals, and she sure as hell didn't trust them. But standing beside her, Owen beamed like a kid on a Christmas morning, and for that, she'd do more than just pet a raptor. 

Their paths rarely crossed during the day, but he would stay at her place overnight, or she would bunk over with him. They’d cook sometimes - as long as trying not to burn grilled cheese sandwiches counted as cooking - and watch TV, by unspoken agreement avoiding the news channels. (She’d laughed until she couldn’t breathe when she found out he had a soft spot for medical dramas, his DVR full of old episodes of _ER_. “Because your _Shark Tank_ is so much better,” he snorted.)

She’d normally scroll through the headlines online, plus the Masrani PR team sent her regular updates on the company’s position regarding the investigation, so it wasn’t like she was not in the loop. But the best thing about the island was not having to live with the goddamn microphones shoved in their faces 24/7, and Claire was determined to hold on to this shaky illusion of detachment for as long as she could. Nothing changed about the fact that she kept feeling like she was sitting on a time bomb, but she was learning to live with it. 

Otherwise, it felt good. And most importantly – normal. Safe. It was odd, and all kinds of scary, to actually rely on another person for emotional comfort, and Claire had to remind herself to stop holding back sometimes, but it wasn’t easy to just ignore the years of an almost pathological independence. A part of her didn’t know how to do it. She’d been known as a control freak for a reason. It was slow and terrifying, but she hoped it was going somewhere.

Right now, she was sprawled on a beach towel on the dock by his bungalow, sporting her best bikini and about a thousand layers of a sun screen and mosquito repellent, a stack of print-outs laid out before her, while Owen tinkered with the bike he somehow managed to salvage before the clean-up crew swept it away with the rest of the debris scattered all over Main Street. (“ _You don’t mind, do you?_ ” He asked. She did actually because looking at this thing made her think of the night when he was racing alongside his raptors through the dark forest and she thought he’d either break his neck or get eaten before she’d so much as blink. But she couldn’t bring herself to say that to him.)

“Have you talked to Caldwell yet?” Owen asked without looking up from whatever he was working on.

“I can’t walk to him, Owen. You saw his signature on those documents. He obviously knows something, and I’ve already asked him about Wu. I’m not sure that bringing it up with him again is a good idea.” Claire sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying and failing to concentrate. She did bring work home because she needed to have it done, not ‘for fun’ as Owen pointed out.

He stood up and walked over to the workbench, sorting through the accumulation of junk until he found what he was looking for. “So, your plan is to sulk and mope?”

She gave him a stern look over the rim of her sunglasses. “I’m not moping. I’m just trying to deal with the fact that the only person I could take this mess to is the one person I can’t take it to.”

“Then we’ll find someone else,” he shrugged.

“You say it like it’s a joke.”

“I know it’s not.” He told her seriously. “I was there the last time it stopped being funny, remember?” Wiping his hands on the oil-stained rag, he walked over to Claire and plopped down on the warm dock beside her, making it sway beneath them. “What are you doing, anyway? I thought it was your day off.”

“It is, but since I’m spending it being eaten alive, I might as well make it count,” she pointed out. “I’m taking it, you’re done?”

His gaze darted towards the bike. “Wanna give it a spin?”

“I’m not getting on that thing,” she huffed, and then added, “And keep your hands away from me. I don’t need stains everywhere.”

“Hands?” An eyebrow quirked, Owen propped himself up on the elbow. “How about everything else?”

He brushed a kiss to her shoulder, slowly making his way toward her neck until Claire pulled off her sunglasses and met his lips with hers halfway. The kiss was soft and slow and ended with a few pecks. 

“We could work with that,” she agreed with a smile.

“Seriously, what’s this?” He snatched a sheet of paper from before her face, grimacing at the small print.

“Those are damage reports,” she tried to take it from him, but Owen just lifted his arm and rolled onto his back.

“Are they interesting?”

“Seriously, give it back. Owen!” Claire kept reaching for his hand until all of a sudden she was half sprawled over him, the sheet of paper he was holding the least of her problems. She sighed at the sight of motor oil stains on her skin and her bikini top and gave him a reproachful look. “Look what you’ve done.”

“Me?” Owen lifted his hands in the air, his face pure innocence. “I was just trying to read. It was you who basically threw yourself at me.” He put her report back and then studied Claire hovering over him, her hair curtaining her face and falling down almost to his chest. The South American sun made the dusting of freckles over the nose spring to a full glow lately, and if the rest of her hadn’t already been making him lose his mind, this aspect alone probably would.  “Are we done with the no hands rule?”

Her gaze remained hard and uncompromising. “That’s Melissa Odabash!”

“I’ll personally apologize to her the next time I see her,” he promised earnestly, his hands sliding down her back to the spot on her sacrum where on their first night together he discovered a small vignette tattoo the meaning and the origins of which Claire refused to disclose, openly enjoying the way it was driving him insane.

(“That’s inhumane,” he told her once. Not bothering to hide her smile, Claire asked him if he wanted Chinese or Thai for dinner.)

“I’ll never wash this off.” She shook her head in dismay.

“Well, in that case, there’s only one thing left to do…”

Claire’s eyes widened when his arms locked around her, and he effortlessly rolled them both off the deck and into the water as she yelped in futile protest, her hands trying to get hold of his shoulders. They hit the water hard and plummeted down to the muddy bottom before coming out to the surface. For a few moments, Claire just gaped at him, opening and closing her mouth, unable to come up with the words, as the water ran down her face.

“Jesus Christ, Owen! Why would you do that?” She pushed wet strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Hey, you wanted to wash some dirt off.” He shook his head like a dog after the bath, sending the droplets flying everywhere - mostly to annoy her. It worked – she was annoyed.

“How’s this better?” Claire stood up, the water only reaching her waist now, glaring daggers at him, her stomach striped with murky streaks. “This is unsanitary. For all I know, I just caught some tropical disease.”

“Well, there’s a shower right there,” he pointed to the bungalow, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“You could’ve just started with that.” She peeled what she hoped was some sort of a plant off her arm and tossed it aside. “What are you, five?”

“Come on, Claire, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Getting tetanus shots,” she retorted, splashing a handful of water in his face, and added with exasperation, “I hate you.”

But before she could stomp off - well, waddle off – Owen’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her down again, until only their shoulders and faces remained above the surface of the lake.

“No, you don’t,” he told her.

His hair was curling and sticking out at odd angles. Droplets of water were running down his face and beading on his eyelashes. And the way he was smiling at her was sending sparks along her skin, making it tingle and glow and feel like she was going to evaporate any moment, her heart doing those crazy flips that often left her lightheaded.

“No, I don’t,” Claire whispered as his lips closed on hers, swallowing her traitorous laughter.

Oh, she was still mad alright, and he was so not getting away with this stunt, but the lake was cool around them, and the heat of his body she felt through their wet clothes was lighting up the fire in the pit of her stomach.

It was such a goddamn cliché to fall for the man who probably ,maybe didn’t let her die when the world started spinning backward. Why didn’t anyone told her there’d be no way back? Why didn’t anyone warn her there was no walking away from this?

Yes, they ended up in the water just now, but Claire couldn’t help feeling like she’d been drowning for a very long time.

Her phone started to ring. Man, did she hate it at this moment!  

“I’ve got to…” She murmured breathlessly, disentangling herself from him.

“Yeah,” Owen echoed, running a hand down his face. “Five hours. They managed without you for five _whole_ hours.” With a groan, he disappeared under the surface again.

“Which is four and a half more than the last time,” Claire pointed out. “Lowery?.... No, wait, I don’t—Yes, he’s here. Wait a sec.” Puzzled, she turned around to find Owen watching her with confusion, his brows pulled together. She handed her phone to him. “It’s for you.”

For a moment, he just stared at it as if he had no idea what it was and what he was supposed to do with it before reaching for it if a little cautiously, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Shit!” Owen muttered after he hung up a minute later, jaw set tight.

“Owen?”

He pulled himself up and back onto the dock before offering his hand to Claire and hoisting her up as well. “Shit!”

Water dripping down her body, she demanded with growing panic. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Blue. She’s sick.”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add more angst in the upcoming chapters, I promise ;) Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always much appreciated :D Hope you're having fun!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know the previous chapter was a bust, but I hope this one is more fun :)

The first question Claire got asked at the post-incident press conference the Masrani PR team organized even before the wheels of her plane touched the US soil was, “How did you let it happen?”

Before her, she had a sheet of paper with everything she was allowed to say, courtesy of the numerous lawyers overwhelmed by the sheer amount of madness they were about to face. The answers that ultimately looped in on themselves, empty words that provided no actual information. She’d recognized the tactic – she’d used it more times in the past than she could count. In fact, it was one of the things she used to be exceptionally good at – she did, after all, manage to sell the park to just about every investor the company ever set its eyes on. Piece of cake!

Except it was different now. People _died_. She _watched_ them die. Because of her. Because of her mistakes. There was blood on her hands she knew she would never be able to wash off. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing ACU team being torn to pieces, without hearing the screams of the terrified people running down Main Street, chased by the Pteranodons, without remembering how she thought her nephews were dead.

So, how did this happen?

The truth was plain and simple – they got greedy. Not only did they bite off more than they could chew, but they also didn’t stop trying even when they started to choke. The truth was, it was a miracle it didn’t happen sooner.

She didn’t have answers for them. She had _excuses_. Excuses that meant nothing in the face of the tragedy that took lives and traumatized people in the way settlement cheques or apologies couldn’t fix. Excuses that felt foul and bitter in her mouth, stuck in her throat and blocking her air.

 _I’m sorry_ , she wanted to say. _I’m so sorry_.

The cameras kept flashing in her face, but the worlds wouldn’t come out. The crowd started to swim before her eyes,and the next thing Claire knew, she was dry-heaving over the sink in the women’s restroom while one of the other company representatives – the one who hadn’t been there, the one who hadn’t seen what they had done – swept in and took over the microphone before the reporters had a chance to start building a news story about a public breakdown of the Operations Manager of the park. Former Operations Manager, Claire reminded herself.

She started at the woman looking back at her from the mirror – her face pale, her skin feeling too tight on her bones, her eyes haunted and looking for an escape. The problem was they didn’t just let it happen. They were still letting it happen, and she wasn’t sure they knew how to stop…

\---

They took the bike. It was faster, Owen claimed, and Claire didn’t even think to protest.

“They get sick all the time,” he told her earlier as he shed off his motor-oil-murky-lake-water-stained shirt and put on a clean one while she simply pulled a blouse and a pair of jeans over her bathing suit. “But it doesn’t mean anyone knows what to do about it.”

Of course, they didn’t, she thought, holding onto Owen while the bike revved and roared beneath them, jumping on the potholes as it zipped through the forest, the trees on either side of her blurring into a never-ending green stripe. It wasn’t an exact science, and even though first John Hammond and then Simon Masrani threw sufficient funds into the dinosaur healthcare – what good what it do to the park if the animals started dropping like flies? – it still was like playing a Russian Roulette. What saved one of them killed the other.

Owen sped up, recklessly swaying into the curves of the road, although still not daring to go as fast as he’d want to. Not with Claire sitting behind him, the warmth of her body soothing the growing panic washing over him, making it easier to breathe through the ice holding his insides in a tight grip. There was no point in bringing her over with him, but she said she’d come and he selfishly didn’t protest.

The handlers were already at the paddock when he threw the bike into park, sending a spray of sand and gravel into the air. He propped it on the kickstand and headed for the cage where two vets were kneeling beside sedated Blue.

Claire pulled out the phone and was dialing Lowery to get a full report and not just the snippets she managed to pull out of Owen who didn’t bother with consistency when Barry’s car pulled up and parked by the vet truck. He scanned the paddock and the surrounding structures, eyes briefly pausing on Owen, before heading over to Claire who hung up the phone and watched him approach with a sinking feeling that the bad just took turn for the worse.

“Claire,” he threw another nervous look at the cage. “There’s more.”

“More what?” She blinked, confused.

“ACU just spotted a Stegosaurus showing similar symptoms.” Barry swallowed. “And they think there might be an animal or two more they’ve dismissed earlier. They’ve headed out to check on them now to make sure.”

Her heart sunk, and it was only now that Claire realized how much she hoped it was a mistake.

She nodded if a little numbly, willing her mind for shift into action gear – they needed to locate the sick animals, figure out the cause of the disease or whatever it was, and try to isolate them to stop it from spreading. Then they need to find a remedy – the process that involved anything from doing an inventory of their medical supplies to having to order something from the mainland. For a moment, it felt overwhelming – the volume of work to be done in the shortest period of time possible making Claire’s head swim. She started making a mental To Do list without even realizing she was doing it, reaching for the familiar and comfortable, her response to chaos, to needing to have the situation under control.

“Has this happened before?” She asked, even though she was pretty certain she knew the answer – just because she hadn’t been as involved with this side of the park life before, having to primarily liaise with the business associates of the company instead of its truly money-making aspect, she doubted she’d have remained unaware of the animals’ health issues.

Barry shook his head. “Not to several of them at once.” He met her eyes, and she knew he hated the idea of asking what he was about to ask. “If it gets worse, you know what we’d have to do, right?”

Claire turned and found Owen kneeling by his raptor.

“I do.”

A flu of some sort, the vets told them. Or an infection. They weren’t sure without running the tests, and those might take a while. Granted, they had a mobile lab right here – she wished InGen hadn’t taken Wu’s equipment, but it was a pointless regret now. It wasn’t like she could summon it back with the power of her will. It meant a delay though, and it frustrated Claire more than anything else.

Owen’s face was crowded with worry when his hands closed around hers clasped around the thick bars separating them from one another, the warmth of his body both soothing and disconcerting – she could all but feel the fear radiate off of him, and her fingers itched to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows.

“I’m going to stay here until she comes to,” he told her in a low voice while the vets behind his back packed their field bags, talking quietly to each other.

“Owen,” she started.

“It’s okay, she’ll be out for a while.” He glanced briefly at Blue, still out cold behind his back, then at Claire again, his voice strained. There was nothing okay about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it.

He reached through the bars and cupped her cheek with his hand, disregarding the audience. It wasn’t like no one knew about them, seeing as how Lowery didn’t even think twice before dialing Claire’s number to fins him.

Without breaking eye contact, Claire tuned her head and brushed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, trying not to think of what she was seeing in his eyes – the helpless panic and pain she knew she couldn’t take away – and hating the gate between them.

“Take care,” she asked him quietly before stepping away from the cage.

It was not her game.

\---

Of course, she knew what Barry was talking about.

There were protocols – InGen’s protocols that she had no control over – for the situation like this. If the cause of an infection or a disease couldn’t be identified or contained, and the animals couldn’t be cured, they were to be put down – for the safety of the people and, in many cases, their own benefit. It never had to be done before – not during her time in the park, but she knew those orders were still in effect and would have to be applied had the situation warranted it.

Which brought her to her next order of business.

“Dr. Grant?”

“ _Ms. Dearing_.” If her phone call caught Alan Grant by surprised, it sure didn’t sound like it. “ _To what do I owe the pleasure?_ ”

She had a speech. She had a long list of arguments. She knew how to ask for something without making it sound like she was asking for anything. She knew exactly how she wanted this conversation to go.

Instead, she blurted out, “I need your help,” thus swiping her carefully cultivated negotiation techniques under the rug.

“ _I’m listening_.” If anything, he sounded intrigued, and Claire took the fact that he hadn’t hung up on her – that he’d picked up at all – as a good sign. Albeit a suspicious one, but good nonetheless.

“I’m on the island,” she breathed out, her lower lip caught between her teeth, and held her breath, wondering if he was going to throw his phone against the wall or do something else equally poetic. 

“ _If you need my help getting off of it, I’m afraid I don’t do that anymore_.”

Okay, this caught _her_ by surprise.

“No, no. It’s not that.” Claire assured him quickly. “I need your… professional opinion.”

There was a pause on the line, long enough to make her think he’d decided to end the call. And then he spoke again, “ _My professional opinion is that you need to pack up, take your friend, and get the hell away from that island, but I’m assuming it’s not what you were going to ask_.”

“My… friend?” She frowned.

“ _Last time I checked, Mr. Owen Grady was heading in the general direction on Costa Rica_.” A pause – a curious one. “ _He spoke highly of you, so I assumed_ …”

“Yeah. Right.” Claire cleared her throat, her gaze landing on the calendar on her desk. It had been three day since Blue got sick. They’d located five more dinosaurs in the past 72 hours that didn’t feel quite so hot either. And so far, they had nothing – except Dave Harris reminding her on an hourly basis that those animals were a contamination threat. Last time she checked, Owen slept in the raptors’ paddock. At this point, she was willing to grasp at straws. Hell, she’d even call Ian Malcolm if she had to (not that she thought he’d help). “What I wanted to know… When the first park opened, did John Hammond or maybe Henry Wu mention anything about the animals being susceptible to, I don’t know, viruses?”

For a few moments, all she could hear was the tapping of a pen or a pencil on a notepad – a restless and nervous habit she wasn’t unfamiliar with. The Alan Grant let out a long breath.

“ _John Hammond and Henry Wu were geniuses in the direct meaning of this word. They did what no one else could even imagine. But they were not gods, and even though they managed to bring to life the closest thing to a dinosaur, I’m not sure they were ready for the repercussions_.”

“Is that a no?”

 “ _It’s a no, I’m afraid_.” He admitted, and maybe she was reading too much into it, but she could’ve sworn she’d heard regret. “ _The thing is, Ms. Dearing, those islands were a perfect place for some of the species and not so much for the others. The climate, the diet, anything you brought on your shoes and clothes from the mainland – all those facts could’ve contributed to the health problems of the animals. They are not fragile – far from it – but they’re hardly indestructible either_.” Which was exactly what she’d figured out on her own. “ _My second best advice would be to talk to Dr. Wu_.”

Claire sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, he’s not really available these days.”

“ _So I’ve heard_.” She could’ve sworn she heard a hint of a bitter amusement in his voice.

“The second best?” She prompted him then.

“ _The first would be to tell you, once again, to get away as far away as possible from that place_.”

Yeah, well…. She tried that the first time around, and look how it ended. Apparently, trying to get away from this island before it was willing to let go of you was just as effective as attempting to squeeze the toothpaste back into the tube.

But maybe if she’d actually finished what they’d started, she’d be able to move on with what was left of her life.

For now, however, she had no idea where to even begin. It wasn’t like there was a manual ling around that she’d somehow overlooked. Or a map. Or a checklist of all stages of trauma she had to go through before everything started making sense again. For all Claire knew, this might never end and maybe she’d be left in the suspended state, not here, but not quite there either, for as long as she lived.

She wanted to ask Alan Grant about how he managed to leave this place behind, move on with his life and never look back – well, never was a strong word, but he’d managed to stay away for nearly a decade, and that, in Claire’s opinion, was something. The questions rolled on her tongue, ready and eager to spill out, her mind reeling. Dealing with the press, with the curious bystanders, with the haters who thought that what Hammond had done was unacceptable, and the fanatics who wanted to find a way to get to the island – he’d gone through it all. If anything, it proved it wasn’t impossible.

But she swallowed them and pushed them away, both because it wasn’t the purpose of her call, and also because she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answers. She feared he’d say there was no way out of it, that a part of her would always be missing. And her life was terrifying enough already.

Instead, she steered the conversation into a familiar territory, and then thanked him profusely before hanging up, uncertain whether it was a good or a bad thing that she was left with more questions than before this talk.

\---

It was a dinosaur figurine that broke her. A small Apatosaurus barely the size of Claire’s palm, exactly like those that used to line Lowery’s workstation and crowd just about every surface in Gray’s room. She found it in the corner of what used to be one of three souvenir shops after meeting there with the construction crew to discuss the progress of their work and which structures were to be kept intact and which needed to be demolished completely.

Someone must have missed this toy during the clean-out.

Claire stared at it for a long moment. In those three shops, they had the figurines of nearly every dinosaur that ever walked the Earth, not just those that inhabited the park, and at some point, she had personally approved the orders for each and every single one of them. Not because she had to – God knew, there were people who actually had it in their job description – but because she wanted to do it right. Because it _mattered_.

It seemed so stupid now. So pointless. So small and petty and shameful.

She looked at a dust-covered piece of plastic in her hand, and saw her dreams, and her plans, and her ambitions, and even John Hammond’s vision. She saw the park the way she – _they_ \- wanted it to be, but also the guilt that would be looming over her, the weight of the lives taken away because of her, for the rest of her life. Not the successes she could’ve been rightfully proud of, but the mistakes she wished she knew how to unmake.

Her fingers curled around the figurine as she pressed her other hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight, her body shaking with sobs.

\---

Owen found her sitting on the steps leading to his bungalow a few hours later. The porch light was on over her head and a half-finished glass of wine sat forgotten beside her.

“What are you doing sitting outside?” He asked.

“I wasn’t sure if it was a good time. If you’d even come here or stay at the paddock.”

He frowned. He might have just had the longest day – the longest three days – of his life, but he’d have to be dense and blind not to notice that something was off. There was an edge to her voice and he hated the way she didn’t seem to be able to look at him. And even though the light was falling from behind her, concealing her features, Owen could’ve sworn her eyes were red from crying.

A million questions formed on his tongue, ready to roll off of it and bounce off the walls she’d already built around herself, wearing them like an armor. Against what, though, he’d yet to find out.

He propped the rifle he was carrying against the side of the stairs and sat down next to her.

“Claire? Is everything okay?”

“Of course.” She said without missing a beat and brushed nonexistent wrinkles from her pants, her gaze focused on her lap. “How’s Blue? Is she doing better?”

“She’s not getting worse.” Owen said honestly, which was a relief and a prolonged torture all rolled into one.

She stayed quite for a while, and even though he itched to demand the answers – like, before he actually jumped out of his skin – he allowed the silence only interrupted by the chirping of cicadas in the dark to hang between them.

“Do you think it’s happening too fast?”

Owen blinked. “What?”

Claire bit her lip nervously. “This. Us.”

His brows drew together as he turned to her, studying the pale outline of her profile, his whole body suddenly in a vice. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on.” She insisted. “I was just… thinking.”

“Well, there’s your problem right there.” He joked, but it came out halfhearted and humorless. His attempt to get her to return the quip fell flat and unnoticed.

She shook her head and let out a small sigh. “I’m serious, Owen.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

“I just… I’m not good at this,” Claire admitted if a little hesitantly. “At being with people. At—knowing what to do.”

“No one is.” He shrugged, hoping she could hear him past the hammering of his heart.

“That’s not reassuring.”

She finally turned to him – for the first time since the conversation began, and if he was any good at reading people, he could swear she was _this_ close to running for the hills. Which, in this place, wasn’t necessarily a metaphor. He’d seen it before – the panic, the fear of losing control. And, as far as he was aware, there was nothing but chaos about the two of them.

He moved closed until their thighs and elbows touched – a small thing, but it somehow settled the discomfort he was feeling until this moment. Or, at least, was starting to.

“Look, from where I stand, there’s nothing wrong with being each other’s crutch. I can do all this on my own, and so can you, but I want to do it with you.” He held her gaze, wanting so badly to reach for her, brush his fingertips to the freckles on her cheeks.

Claire swallowed. “You say like it’s so simple.”

“We both know it’s not,” he pointed out, as his stomach dropped and his breathing tightened in his chest. “Do you really want to end this?”

She didn’t turn away, her eyes huge and uncertain.

“I don’t know what I want, Owen.”

“That’s bullshit,” he objected without hesitation. “You always know what you want. You just don’t always like it, but that’s another story.”

“It scares me,” she whispered, confessing quite possibly her biggest secret.

“I know.” He said, unable to hold back from tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But we’re figuring it out. And the good thing about it is not having to do it on your own.”

Claire looked away then, staring straight ahead now. “I talked to Alan Grant today.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously.

“He said to go easy on antibiotics. Their immune systems might not respond well to them.”

Owen nodded. “Noted.”

He watched her pick on a loose thread that escaped the seam of her pants.

She cleared her throat again. “He also said you sounded interested the last time you talked about his job offer.”

“I wasn’t uninterested.” He corrected her, and then his frown deepened when her words kicked in. “Wait, is this where all this is coming from?” Owen scrubbed a hand down his face, shook his head. “If you don’t want me to leave, I won’t.”

Claire pursed her lips together, her voice strained. “Don’t put it on me.”

“Not putting anything on you, Claire.” Letting out a long breath, he looked down at the knot of his hands clasped together and hanging between his knees. “Grant’s offer is my back-up plan, I guess. For when you get sick and tired of my…” He trailed off.

“Snoring.” She offered helpfully, the corner of her mouth lifting up. “Leaving your tools all over the house. Putting empty carton of milk back in the fridge.”

“I don’t--” Owen darted a quick look at her. “I was gonna say my excellent physique, but look at you, you already have a list. I should’ve known you already have a list.”

“It’s not a list,” she protested with a huff.

He shrugged. “All I’m saying is - everyone needs a back-up plan. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She turned to him again, head tilted slightly. “And what do you need now?”

“You.”

He cupped her cheek with her palm, allowed his thumb to run over her lower lip before leaning in and pressing his mouth to hers. She kissed him back, lips opening up to him, her fingers curling around his wrist, running down his arm. She smelled faintly of coconut and almonds, familiar, almost intoxicating scent, stirring the things inside of him he didn’t know how to name.

Inside the bungalow, Owen’s hands slid under her top, desperate, hungry for the feel of her skin against his, for the way she was melting in his arms, making him go crazy, unable to tell where she ended and he began. His fingers trailed down the straps of her bra, down the flat plane of her stomach, around her waist, under the waistband of her pants while her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. She grunted in protest when she found an undershirt beneath it, making him laugh – a low, rumbling sound, rising from his chest and echoing in every cell of her body, breathless, her lips trying to kiss all the skin she could reach.  

Claire’s shins brushed against the edge of his bad – how did they get there? Did they even move? – and she let out a slow, long breath when his lips travelled down her check, along her neck, to the sensitive spot behind her ear he knew would leave her on the brink of falling over the edge, the touch of his hands making her feel like she was going to dissolve without a trace, lighting sparks under her skin, too much and not enough all at once.

He lowered her down, hoverive over her for a moment, taking in her eyes the color of seawater in near complete darkness, the soft curls she’d long stopped trying to keep straight fanned over the pillow, her slightly parted lips, his heart pounding in his chest so fast he thought it would break his ribs on its way out.

Gorgeous. _His_.

Owen’s mouth found hers again, drinking her in – there was no other way to put it, his need for this, for _her_ , so raw and primitive it almost hurt. Breathless, he kissed his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach, her skin smooth and ghostly pale and glowing in the moonlight spilling into the room through the half open curtains, marveling in the sound of her soft gasps, whispered encouragement. His lips curved into a possessive, satisfied smile at the sharp intake of her breath when he brushed a kiss to the inside on her knee, making his way up along her thigh.

“Owen…”

Fingers interlaced, he slid their hands over her head as his body filled hers, his lips capturing her half sigh, half whimper, the kiss deep and slow and soothing and full of promises he didn’t know how to keep, the words he couldn’t yet find. The words he didn’t even know existed. Claire went still for a few moments, her lips quirking into a smile against his mouth, before he started to move, first slowly, savoring the feeling of belonging, of such deep and utter contentment he didn’t think he could handle it, and then picking up pace, needing her so bad he thought he was going to lose his mind.

Her hands slipped from his grasp to thread through his hair, skim over his shoulders, down his back, her lips ghosting over his law line, her breath hitching in her throat under his every touch, at the sound of his voice whispering her name like a prayer, until the world zeroed in on the two of them, exploding into a million colors, bright and brilliant. Too much and not enough…

Owen buried his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her, wishing there was enough light to see her eyes. Wishing there were words to tell her she was his entire Universe.

He rolled over onto his side, his breath still short and ragged, his body wonderfully spent. She turned her head, and his lips were right there, kissing her softly and sweetly now that the storm had passed, the raging fire sated to a slow burn. His fingers tangled in her hair as Claire scooted closer, forehead resting against his, a smile he could feel more than see playing on her face.

“I can’t believe we’ve wasted so much time,” he said quietly, the touch of his breath to her skin making it tingle. “We could’ve been doing this for years. I wanted to do it since the first time I saw you.”

“Even when you yelled at me because Hoskins wouldn’t get off your back?” Claire asked.

“I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at him,” Owen explained sheepishly. “And I apologized.”

“Even after our date from hell?” She went on, clearly amused.

He chuckled. “Is that what we call it now?”

She couldn’t help but scoff. “Come on, you’ve been there.”

“Even more so then,” he admitted, pecking her on the lips again, and then one more time. “I wanted to see what the real Claire was like. The one without checklists.” His heart took a dive from ten thousand miles above the Earth, somehow forgetting the parachute. “You and I, are we good?” Owen asked in a low murmur, caressing her face, brushing the strands of hair from her forehead.

“I don’t know, are we?” Claire giggled, kissing him again. “I’m not even sure I can think straight yet.”

A jolt of elated possession zinged through him. He pulled her closer until every curve of her body fit against every curve of his, their legs entangled, faces not even an inch apart. And he still couldn’t get enough of her, still wanted more even though he couldn’t tell what _more_ was. Up until now, Owen didn’t even know it was possible to need another person so deeply, so desperately.

He stroked her bare shoulder absently, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her skin. “I’d never hurt you, you know that, right?”

Claire felt her heart skip a beat, grateful all of a sudden for the cover of the night that hid a shadow of uncertainty that flickered across her face.  

 _Not intentionally_ , she wanted to say. _Everyone always says that_ , she wanted to add. It was not right and it was not fair, but that was how life worked – most of the time at least, and she didn’t want to lie to herself. But she couldn’t bear the idea of being this goddamn rational, not now when her whole body was so attuned to his she could feel his heartbeat as if it was her own, their chests rising and falling in sync.

“I know,” she whispered. “About earlier… it’s been a weird day.”

“’S’okay.” Owen let out a long breath, then lifted her chin and kissed her again, not oblivious to the slight change of mood, but more than willing to look the other way for the time being. “I’m not going anywhere, Claire. Not until you tell me to.” And added as an afterthought, “Probably not even then.”

She found his hand, intertwined their fingers together. He raised it to his mouth, kissed the back of her hand – one knuckle at a time.

“Tell me what else is on it, on that list of yours,” he asked after a while when they’d finally found themselves again, their breathing evening out, their heartrates no longer going through the roof.

She brushed her lips to his collarbone. “What list?”

“The one with all the reasons for you to dump me for Lowery.”

Claire snorted – half at the idea of leaving him, half at the idea of ditching him for _Lowery_. “Let’s see,” she drawled, her voice mischievous. “You leave your socks everywhere.”

He let out a short laugh. “Now you’re just flattering me. Come on, give me the real stuff.”

 _The way you make me feel safe_ , she thought, having to swallow the words before they slipped out. _The way you calm the storms inside of me. The way you can put together the parts of me I thought I’d lost forever. The way you look at me when you don’t think I notice. The fact that I’m not tearing at the seams when I’m with you_.

“Your excellent physique,” she said at last, throwing his comment back at him.

“I’m feeling so objectified, Ms. Dearing.” He pulled the sheets over them and kissed the top of her had.

Claire laughed – the sound like sunshine, filling him with golden glow, shooting the sharp edges, molding together the cracks running through his entire existence with pure, untamable bliss. This was probably what drug addicts felt, Owen thought. Except his addiction had green eyes that reminded him of everything from summer foliage to deep sea and a dusting of freckles that was enough to drive him insane.

His job, his life choices came with a certain territory. He’d learned to jump on command, drop and roll and run into the fire without thinking twice. It wasn’t fearlessness – it was instinct drilled into him, the only thing that guaranteed his survival. It was hard to get scared if you pushed the thoughts of what you were doing away and let your body to do what it knew how to do best. Sometimes, he didn’t feel right about it. Other times, he didn’t allow himself to feel anything at all. It was easier that way.

With Claire, it was different. He was scared of losing her. Which made him want to kiss her deeper, to hold her longer, to savor the moments he wasn’t sure were his to keep.

There were things in his past, memories that kept him from believing that what was happening between them was real. That he was worth of it, of feeling like he’d grown wings. It was as terrifying as it was overwhelming, the intimacy and closeness and a sense of commitment he’d never experience before, making the idea of waking up to find out it was just a dream so much more terrifying. There were words rolling in his tongue for quite a while now, things he wanted to tell her but couldn’t bring himself to say out loud, things he wanted to thank her for – as if the words of gratitude could express how much it meant to him that she kept fixing the parts of him he didn’t even know were broken.

These days, life was only making sense when she was within his arm’s reach, when he could bury his face in her hair and breathe in her scent that never failed to ease the tight knot in his stomach. He’d faced death more times than he could count, but the one thing that truly terrified him was not knowing how to exist without her.

“Hey, I should go,” Claire muttered, pressing her lips to the pulse point on his neck.

“Stay,” he asked, flexing his arms around her, nuzzling his forehead against her hair.

“Have you fixed the shower?” She asked pointedly.

“It’s fine,” he insisted with a small wince.

“It’s got no pressure, Owen.”

“Okay, so it can’t work under pressure. You, of all people, should be understanding.” He wiggled his toes, ticking the sole of her foot, _feeling_ her go all mellow against him.

“Ha-ha.” She rolled her eyes nonetheless, then sighed. “I’ve got a conference call in the morning. If I stay here, I will be late for it.”

“You won’t. I’ll drive you.” He offered, pressing a long kiss to her mouth. “Don’t go.”

Claire weaved her arms around his neck, her body stretching along the whole length of his. It wasn’t like she didn’t know it was a losing battle from the start. “Talk about working under pressure.”

\---

“You have got to be kidding me.” Claire stared at him like he had just grown a second head.

“It was your idea.” Owen pointed out with a shrug.

She gaped at him. “How did you get _that_ from what I said?”

He resumed his pacing around her office, shedding the jungle and dirt on the pristine floor from his mud-caked clothes and boots. She chose not to think about it before her brain exploded.

“Okay, Grant’s. Whatever.” Owen ruffled his hair, making it stick out at odd angles. “He’s right – no one knows those animals better than Hammond and Wu, and since it’s been kinda hard to communicate with Hammond lately, that leaves us with Wu.”

She sighed with exasperation and glanced almost longingly at her unfinished report. At least it wasn’t giving her the mother of all headaches. “You seriously plan to go to Sorna, walk in the lab and ask him for a medical advice?”

He stopped and looked seriously at her. “If I have to.”

“This is crazy.” She shook her head.

“What else am I supposed to do, Claire? There were six sick animals, and one of them died last night. Blue can be next. They’re not responding to the medication we have at our disposal.” He swallowed as if the words had a trouble coming out of his mouth, getting stuck in his throat. “That Stegosaurus we saw on Sorna… It had to have the same thing, whatever the hell it is. Which means they know of it. Which means they’re probably doing something to prevent the spread of the virus.”

Which was one hell of a stretch, and she was tempted to remind him of that. Except how was she supposed to shoot his wild hope in the face when he had nothing else?

“No. It’s too dangerous.” She said after a brief consideration, pushing herself up and walking around her desk. She leaned against it and folded her arms over her chest. “We don’t even know what lives there.”

“They would die if we do nothing.” His voice dropped. His gaze grew pained. “Claire, InGen's gonna kill them. They'd kill Blue.”

“How would us dying help anyone?”

 _What if something happened to_ you, she wanted to ask, but fount it impossible to say it out loud – partly because it would make her fear more real, and party because she didn’t want to her his answer, if there even was one.

“So, what are we supposed to do? Just sit back and wait?”

“I could bring more vets,” she suggested as a compromise.

“And by the time they’d get the clearance, there’ll be no one to treat.” He said what she already knew, which only made her frustration grow deeper. “Is you find anyone stupid enough to want to come here, that is.” Owen added. “I watched three of my other raptors die. I can’t--”

“Claire!”

They both whipped their heads around when Lowery burst into her office, breathless and frantic, and so un-Lowery her heart sank. Who said foreboding wasn’t a thing?  

“He knows,” he breathed out.

“Who knows what?” She asked cautiously, exchanging a quick look with Owen whose frown deepened.

“Harris knows about my snooping around.” Lowery pushed his glasses up his nose, gulping for air. “He knows I hacked into InGen’s system. Well, not me. _Someone_.”

Her face fell. He might have as well pulled the rug from under her feet.

“What did you say to him?” She demanded.

“Nothing! Are you crazy? I don’t have a death wish.” Lowery rolled his eyes. “And your boyfriend has a raptor that attacks on command.”

“Hey!” Owen protested.

Claire waved him off. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need a command.”

Lowery ignored their banter entirely. “What I’m trying to say, Harris is on the way here. I guess they had some kind of alert or whatever. I thought I’d warn you, and using a phone didn’t feel safe.”

“Now that’s a lot of paranoia,” Owen mumbled.

She rubbed her forehead, thinking, then pointed to the door. “Both of you – out.”

“Like hell!” Owen reacted instantly. “I’m not gonna leave you alone with him.”

“What’s he going to do? Bite me?” She snorted, feeling the answer that was about to slip out of his mouth with her very skin. “I can deal with Harris. Having you here is like waving a red cloth in front of a bull.”

“Bulls are actually colorblind,” Lowery piped up, “so it’s not the color that makes them charge, it’s the movement of the…”

“Out!” She repeated firmly.

“Claire…” Owen started, but she pointed sternly at the door, her lips pursed into a thin, stubborn line. “Fine.” He returned the glare, hoping it hid the worry he tried really hard not so show.

“We don’t have time for this,” Lowery hissed, pulling the door open and sneaking a peek through the crack before slipping out into the empty hall. Shaking his head, Owen pulled her for a quick, tight kiss before following him out of her office.

Once alone, Claire closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. This day was so much fun she wasn’t sure she was going to deal with it all.

She was in the process of pointlessly shuffling the papers on her desk when her door opened again.

“Ms. Dearing? A word?”

Apparently, knocking was too mainstream these days.

She plastered a polite smile on her face. “Mr. Harris, how can I help you?”

He walked in, looking about as pissed off as she supposed he would. “There was a system breach. Someone bypassed the Firewall and accessed the company data base.”

Claire frowned (or at least she hoped she did). “Have you informed the security?”

“The things is, I think it _was_ security.” He studied her, his eyes boring into her face.

“What are you saying?” She tiled her head, not breaking eye contact and hoping to God she appeared to be more composed than she actually felt, a million questions buzzing in her head. Did he know about the cameras? About her visit to his office? Did she trigger the alarm when she opened the data base from his computer? Had she closed it properly?

Harris quirked an eyebrow. “Have you asked any of your Control Room friends to do it?”

Claire’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I have, and that was a serious accusation.”

“Do I look like I’m joking around?” He scoffed. “Have you?”

“I certainly have not!” She exclaimed, offended. “And now that we’re on it, do you have any proof to support your wild implications?”

Harris’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning, there _can_ be proof?”

“Meaning, you have nothing,” she stated calmly.

“Well, whoever did it hacked into classified files. You know what it means, right?”

“I do, which is exactly why I suggested you contact the security instead of wasting your time here.” Claire reminded him, her heart ponding somewhere in her stomach by this point. Could they have traced Lowery’s activity back to him? She wasn’t as tech savvy as he was, but she knew he’d be careful enough to leave no bread crumbs. And yet… “You look tired, Mr. Harris. Have you been getting enough rest lately? This job can be exhausting.” She added. “Have you thought of maybe taking a day off?”

“What is this? Your idea of a diversion?” He snorted.

Claire folder her arms on the desk before her. “Maybe I’m genuinely concerned.”

Harris leaned over it, his jaw set tight. “If I find out that you or your boyfriend are behind this, Ms. Dearing--” he snarled.

“I really don’t see what my personal life has to do with any of this,” she interjected him coolly.

“This is not over.” He straightened up, a smug, knowing smile crossing his face. "I don't need to remind you that you only have 48 hours before the species still showing the symptoms are terminated, do I?" He told her as a last parting remark and marched out of her office, slamming the door behind him.

Claire slumped back in her char and rubbed her temples, feeling the migraine begin to pool behind her eyes. She reached for her phone.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said when Owen picked up only after half a ring. “Talk to Barry. If we’re going back, someone needs to watch the goddamn boat.”

\---

The problem with carefully constructed plans was that they seldom went the way you wanted them to. You could think of every possible mistake, every small thing that could go wrong, and then end up caught in the impossible.

It hit Claire a few hours into their second venture to Sorna when she and Owen found themselves face to face with two angry and most definitely hungry Velociraptors.

They still were a few miles away from the old compound and the laboratories _(“How do you know where to go?” She asked him at some point. “Gut feeling,” Owen responded with a cheeky grin, and added, “Also, old maps,” when she scowled at him_ ), when they ran into the local inhabitants of Site B.

And now she was staring at neat rows of razor-sharp teeth and swaying tails, not knowing how to breathe, frozen with fear. The raptors in the park never struck her as particularly friendly, but these two looked deadly. Wild. She could so easily imagine their teeth tearing into her flesh, the sound of it so clear her head. And she wondered what it would be like – to die, to feel the life drain out of her body. Would she feel it or would she be too paralyzed to even notice?

“They’re not trained, are they?” She asked faintly.

“No, they’re not,” Owen responded. Standing slightly before her – between her and the beasts – he tried to keep his gaze on both dinosaurs at once, his shoulders so stiff she could see his muscles rolling under his shirt. “Stay back,” he told her in a whoosh of breath, careful to keep his voice low lest the dinosaurs take it as a threat. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Claire.”

She seriously doubted he was in a position to make such promises.

Carefully, she reached for the Glock Owen gave her tucked into the waistband of her khaki shorts and pulled it out slowly, both comforted and unnerved by the weight of it in her hand, by the smell of metal and gun oil. Owen held his own rifle in front of him, his grip on it so tight he was close to leaving finger-shaped dents on it.

A branch snapped somewhere in the forest behind them.

The raptors charged.

Claire pulled the trigger.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't been consistent with updates lately. Somehow, this story ended up on the back burner. I plan to keep going with it, or at least try to, but if that changes, I'll let you guys know so that you're not left hanging. 
> 
> But for now, comments and kudos are more than welcome because they are love :) Hope you're having fun!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, guess who is back! It's been forever, and I'm really sorry it took me this long to update. Life keeps getting in the way and it's never fun, although I hope I'll get to finish this story properly. I cannot tell how much your support and patience means to me, guys! Thanks for your kind encouragement.  
> Hope you'll enjoy this freakishly long chapter ;)

_Let me photograph you in this light_  
_In case it is the last time_  
_That we might be exactly like we were..._  
_"When We Were Young" by Adele_

_Her lips were painted red, and, in a room full of corporate lawyers, it was the only thing Owen could think about._

_The previous night spent on the couch in her living room, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, too jetlagged to fall asleep, too dumbfounded by what had happened to them, too relived by Claire offer to crash at her place was beginning to catch up with him. Warm Californian air spilling through the open window was comforting, if a little unusual for late December, but the sounds coming form the street – cars honking, people talking, someone playing Deep Purple at top volume – unsettled him. He longed for the familiar, yet was unable to find anything to sooth his restlessness._

_In her bedroom across the hall, Claire wasn’t asleep either. He could hear her try to settle in her bed, but the moment he’d think she’d succeeded, he’d hear the rustling of her sheets or her subtle sigh._

_Changes he was fine with, but this felt like having the ground kicked from underneath his feet._

_He was well aware that one of the suits whose cufflinks probably cost more than all of Owen’s earthy possessions asked him something, and he nodded vaguely hoping it was a yes or no question and praying for this interrogation of a debriefing to be over already. Not that he could blame them – he wished he had the answers they were looking for._

_The lawyers finally gave them a break, and Owen’s mind wandered to the vending machine he’d spotted in the hallway earlier. He could use a gallon or two of burned coffee, perhaps. If he were lucky, he’d choke on it. However, the moment they stepped out of the conference room, Claire’s lips began to tremble ever so slightly and her carefully constructed composure shattered to pieces. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her into the nearest empty office he managed to find. Her breathing only evened out when he shut the door behind them, cutting the two of them from the madness of this day._

_“Hey, it’s okay,” Owen stepped closer to her, feeling helpless and pretty damn clueless, his hand smoothing her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Breathe, Claire. Just keep breathing.” As far as comforting went, this sucked, but what else could he say?_

_She swallowed uneasily, staring up at him, her hand clutching a fistful of his shirt. He’d never noticed the golden specs in her eyes before, and it was such a fucking shame. Did she know about them? Did she know that she had a star-shaped freckled on her left cheek? He ran his thumb over it, feeling her go still before him, his own body going tense by the second, ready to retreat at the sign of any danger – or, in this particular case, rejection._

_His eyes shifted to her parted lips._

_The moment stretched between them, and Owen searched desperately for the words that would make sense when nothing else did._

_He was about to step back, his mind going through a mental list of what he’d need to do to move to another goddamn planet now that he’d made a complete idiot of himself, when she tugged at his shirt, twisting the fabric in her fist, and the next thing he knew his fingers were weaving through her hair, cupping the back of her head as his lips found hers. Her body relaxed against his and whatever caution he had flew right out the window when her arms snaked around his neck as she stretched up on her tiptoes._

_He certainly did not miss her couch._

\---

His ears still ringing, Owen cursed under his breath – so much for staying undetected! - and discharged his own weapon, the shot throwing the other raptor ten feet back and into the overgrowth of ferns where it waggled its tail a few times before going completely still. He tried not to think of them as the  _raptors_ , let alone  _his_  raptors, but it was hard not to see Charlie, Delta, and Echo in those animals, not to hear their chortles the way he’d heard them for the last time.

Breathing heavily, he turned around to find Claire staring at the unmoving form of the dead animal at her feet, both of her hands clasped tightly around the handle of the Glock, eyes wide and glassy, fixed on the crimson wound on the raptor’s neck where the bullet hit it.  

Carefully, he clicked the safety on her gun back on and then lowered her arms, stepping between her and the dead raptors until she lifted her face up, gaze locking with his.

“It’s okay,” Owen said in that soothing tone she’d heard him use on his animals before, and it would’ve been infuriating had it not be working on her, too. Goddamn it! “It’s over. They’re dead, okay?”

Slowly, Claire nodded, exhaling. And then she saw it.

“Owen, you’re bleeding.”

He blinked, confused for a moment, and then looked down at the torn sleeve of his button-up shirt and a rapidly growing crimson stain, only now noticing the familiar thick warmth of blood seeping out of the wound.

“Shit,” Owen muttered through his teeth, carefully peeling off the fabric to reveal a long cut running from his shoulder halfway to his elbow, and now that the adrenaline began to wear off, he could feel a dull pain grow in his upper arm, his fingers beginning to tingle due to a lack of proper blood circulation.

Beside him, Claire sucked in a sharp breath.

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, even though they both knew it was anything but. “She must’ve… grazed me.” He added as an explanation – not that Claire needed one.

“Oh, please! She all but ripped your arm off.”

“Look, it’s fine, I swear.”

He was lying. She knew he was lying, and he knew it, too. And Claire hated herself so much for wanting desperately to believe him.

Owen was clutching his shoulder now, and her gaze shifted to it, to the blood trickling through his fingers and falling onto the grass at his feet, dark-red and thick.

“Owen…” She breathed out, not recognizing her own panicked voice.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” He insisted even though the throbbing in his shoulder kept growing progressively worse.

“No, it’s not.” She said.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “I need to stop the bleeding. Can you help me with that?”

Without another word, Claire shrugged out of her shirt, revealing a plain tank top underneath, and fastened it tightly around his upper arm, her fingers clumsy and trembling. The cloth was soaked through with Owen’s blood even before she secured it in place.

“We need to go back,” she said quietly.

“It might not be the best idea,” he responded. “But we do need to get out of here before the smell of blood invited everyone in a five-mile radius over for lunch.”

She snapped her head up.

“It might not—what?! What do you mean not the best idea?”

“Claire, listen,” he caught her gaze, held it. “Do you trust me?”

Now, that was one hell of a loaded question.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him – it was that as far as dinosaurs were concerned, he didn’t always know the difference between doing the right thing and doing what needed to be done. The fact that they were here spoke volumes. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing – it was, after all, what made him who he was and there was nothing she admired and respected more. But now they were running out of time, and he was hurt, and she had already almost lost him more times than she could count, and yet there was nothing she could say or to do to stop it, to fix it, to make it right. And it scared her.

It took them another thirty minutes to get to the outskirts of the old base – no longer abandoned, she noted the moment it appeared in their line of sight. It looked nothing like the pictures Claire had found in the archives, the ones that mostly captured the post-hurricane disaster - like half-destroyed buildings, overturned cars, and piles of debris everywhere.

She had assumed InGen would use the old structures, but instead they built the new ones right behind the original village, leaving most of the destroyed buildings to the mercy of the elements. She certainly didn’t like the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and the chill that ran down her spine at the sight of a tall, uninviting wall running around the compound designed to keep the people hiding behind it safe.

Not that there was any such thing in this place, Claire shuddered.

She had never thought of this plan as a good idea, but now it was starting to look downright insane. For all she knew, it would probably be easier to break into Pentagon.

Regardless, she followed Owen down the steep slope and toward the dirt road snaking between the trees.

“This should do,” Owen muttered several minutes later, pulling the door to what used to be an old lab open (a pointless thing to do, really, when he could’ve just walked in through the glassless doorframe). It gave in with a loud creak of rusty hinges, spooking a flock of birds that took off into the sly.

“Do? For what?” Claire asked as she stepped inside and shivered, more at the sight of destruction around her than the chill trapped within the concrete walls.

She glanced around, noticing that this place looked more like a part of the jungle than anything man-made, covered with ivy all over, the weed breaking through the cracks in the tiled floor. It was a miracle it was still standing. Come to think of it, she wasn’t entirely comfortable breathing here lest the walls collapse around them.

She moved forward, careful not to trip over the twigs and branches blown inside during one storm or the other, shattered glass crunching beneath her feet. Her gaze slid past the crooked lab table, along the row of cupboards, their doors hanging open, the shelves empty, and paused briefly on an old incubator, a grandfather of those they used to use in the lab on Isla Nublar. It was hard to imagine this place still running and fully functioning.

Claire hadn’t been around yet when Masrani Global decided to bring the park back to life shortly after John Hammond’s death, but now she couldn’t help wondering if this was what they saw when they first started the reconstruction. How could someone look at something like this and see the future?

Meanwhile, Owen rummaged through the drawers, coming up mostly with useless junk and expired pills. He did, however, manage to find a pile of gauze and bandage packages. They were dusty but still sealed so he figured they’d have to do.

His next order of business was the faucet, which, if he were completely honest with himself, he had zero hopes for. It coughed and sputtered when he turned the tap, startling Claire as it spat out dirty brown water, the rumble of the old pipes making the whole place shudder.

Claire walked up to him. “What are you doing?”

Carefully so as not to disturb his wound, he shrugged off his backpack and rested it on one of the tables. “Gotta clean it out,” his gaze flickered down to her blood-soaked shirt wrapped around his upper arm.

“With this?” She arched an eyebrow at the water the color of sludge.

“Apparently not,” he admitted with a wince.

She stepped closer to him and started to unwrap her crude handiwork, trying to ignore the metallic taste in her mouth and a heavy scent of the jungle mixing with the smell of blood that was making her stomach turn. She never thought it was nothing, but it was only now that she noticed how pale Owen was, how labored his breathing had become – as though even the slightest shift of his muscles hurt. And it probably did. They should have gone back right away. They should have—

“I’ve got some water,” he said, interrupting the train of her though. “And a first aid kit.”

She swallowed uneasily and nodded, noticing the beads of sweat on his forehead she knew had little to do with the heat, his skin looking clammy and odd in the poor light streaming through the cracks in the ceiling and half-collapsed walls.

Slowly, she peeled off the last of the fabric, not missing the sound of his sharp inhale, before dropping it to the floor. Then she helped him pull off his leather vest and then his shirt until he was standing before her in his undershirt, the cut on his shoulder gaping at her in all its bloody glory while Owen gasped for air like he had just ran a marathon.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” Claire muttered in a whoosh of breath, feeling lightheaded.

“Claire,” he called out when she reached for the water and the medical supplies from his backpack.

She turned, offered him a forced smile that she knew was about as reassuring as the one you’d get from a shark before it ate you.

Owen looked at her for a long moment, but then just shook his head without saying anything else.

She didn’t push.

They didn’t have a proper washcloth, but she figured a gauze pad would do, all things considered. The cut did look bad, but at least it stopped bleeding. She didn’t mind counting every victory, however small they were.

“First the water, then peroxide,” Owen instructed her.

She looked sternly at him.

“I know how to clean a wound.”

His lips quirked a little. “Have you done it before?”

Claire hesitated. “In theory.”

“You’re doing great,” he told her in that soft voice that made her skin tingle, and she had to pretend she didn’t feel him watching her, choosing to concentrate on the worst thing she’d ever had to deal with in her life. And here she was thinking that trying to wash the dinosaur poop out of her hair was a challenge.

Until  _that_  day at the park, Claire didn’t know you weren’t supposed to hold the flare for this long in your hand without, say, gloves. She’d burned her palm pretty badly even though her race with the T-Rex only lasted for what felt like a few seconds. She hadn’t noticed it until much later, though. Not until the ferry took them back to the mainland and the adrenaline began to wear off. It was Owen who retrieved the first aid kit from the front desk of the hotel Masrani Global placed them in and tended to her burns, the touch of his hands gentle, soothing. She wondered if he’d noticed then that she’d been watching him the whole time…

The peroxide began to bubble when Claire poured it onto the wound, making Owen stiffen instantly, his teeth clenching tight.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“S’okay,” he breathed out, his voice hoarse.

Carefully, she dabbed the cut with the gauze patch, the sharp chemical smell of the antiseptic making her want to turn away. “I hope it’s worth it.”

“What?” He asked, turning to look at her even though Claire kept her gaze down.

“This. I hope that what you’re trying to do is worth the risk.”

She glanced up at last, her expression guarded. He studied her for a few moments, taking in the way the light falling through the cracks and holes in the roof touched her hair, turning it golden, but kept her face striped with shadows and unreadable.

“It’s worth giving it a chance,” he said in the end.

It wasn’t what she expected him to say, certainly not what she  _wanted_  him to say, but right now, it was all he could offer. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand, but he knew he couldn’t really explain to her that what he was doing was his way of operating. Wasn’t sure he fully understood it himself. She was scared, though, and he hated it; hated being the person causing it; hated not knowing how to make it right without making everything else wrong.

Owen knew he would always choose her, over everyone and everything, but he hoped he would never have to make this decision.

“There’s some ibuprofen in the side pocket,” Owen said when she screwed the peroxide cap back on and pushed the bloodied gauze patches aside. “And I know it’s not there, but if you, by any chance, find any alcohol…” He cracked a weak smile, not oblivious to how the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly as well.

“You must have left it in your other emergency bag,” she noted, handing him the pills and the remaining water to wash them down with.

“You can’t predict everything,” he made a face at her. Caught her gaze. “Now, there’s a sewing kit--”

“A sewing…?” Her eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“Claire…” He put the water back down.

“I can’t.” She protested, eyes darting around in panic as if she expected someone to jump from out of the cupboard and save the day.

“Claire--”

“No.” She swallowed, her voice suddenly high-pitched. “I’m not qualified… Can’t you do it?”

“Not with my left hand,” Owen said. “Hey, look at me.” He took her hand, pulled her closer. “I need your help, Claire. Please.”

“It’s unsanitary,” she pointed out, quickly running out of arguments, seeing how the cons were not likely to outweigh the pros when his life was at stake.

He shook his head. “It’ll have to do.” His thumb kept running over the inside of her wrist. “Please.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll talk you though it, okay?” Owen promised. “It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll—I’ll hurt you.”

At that, he let out a short laugh. “Well, I think this ship has already sailed.” Then he propped her chin on his knuckle. “I wouldn’t ask you if there was any other way.”

“Damn you, Grady,” she muttered.

His lips twitched. “I think I’ve heard that one before.”

“No kidding.”

Claire had exactly zero medical training. Well, she could do CPR. Although, ironically, in given circumstances, she was also the one most likely to need it. She could bandage something or the other just fine. And she was really, really good at dialing 911 if needed.  

It was the reason she ensured the employment of the best medical personnel at the resort – so that she wouldn’t have to think about this kind of thing, period. Granted, to her memory, the worst they had ever had to deal with were sunburns and heat-stokes – something she prided herself in, if she were completely honest with herself.

But right now, Owen was right. There was no one to delegate this task to. It was just her.

He watched her as she sterilized the needle with the antiseptic and laid out everything she might need on a clean towel in front of herself, her fingers trembling when she tried to put the thread through the needle hole. This was going to feel nasty, but although it would hardly be the worst thing he’d have to go through, he still hated putting it on her.

“I’m going to be sick,” Claire said, looking up at him, her insides coiling.

“We have time for it,” Owen assured her, which was supposed to be a joke, but didn’t feel like one.

She didn’t like his color – a tad too grey for her taste, although it was probably making a nice contract next to her own shade of green. She wondered if she was going to throw up or pass out first. And then she wondered how on earth did her life come down to these two options. She swallowed uncomfortably, noting Owen’s weariness, his breathing pained and labored.

“It’s okay,” he repeated when she moved closer and he got a feeling she’d much rather have another race with the T-Rex than do what she was about to do.

“Stay still,” Claire told him.

“Start at the bottom and work your way up,” he instructed, sensing her hesitation. “You know how to sew, right?”

That earned him a stern look, and a small smile that almost crossed her face. “Go on, be a smartass when I have a sharp object in my hand.” He chuckled – couldn’t help it, really. “Stay still,” she said again, almost with a growl.

It was a weird sensation – the skin that seemed so soft to the touch turned out being much harder to pierce than she’d imagined. Like leather. She tried not to think of it as sticking a needle in Owen, but any other mental image was making it even worse.

“I can’t believe you actually have this on you at all times,” Claire murmured.

“ _Be prepared_ , you know.”

He watched her work her way up his arm, trying to focus on Claire so that he wouldn’t have to think of anything else. She was biting her lip in concentration and her brows were pulled together in that tiny frown Owen wanted to smooth with his thumb.  

His skin had gone numb from pain, and even though Owen wasn’t sure it was a good thing, it still felt like a much needed relief at the moment.

He used to tell Claire it wasn’t about control, and in part, it wasn’t. Not necessarily the way she saw it. But at this moment, he’d give anything to be the master of this situation and not a mere observer, forced to stay on the sidelines. Owen didn’t always get her need for control, but right now, he wouldn’t mind not feeling like he was suspended in the air, not knowing whether he was going to hit the soft grass or sharp rocks upon landing.    

“I know this can’t possibly feel good. Why are you smiling?”

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the best thing that happened to me?” He asked quietly.

“How many of those ibuprofens did you take?” Claire inquired without taking her eyes off her task at hand, her lips curving at the corners. “I’m about done here.”

He talked her through the rest of it, watching her hands move swiftly as she applied the anti-inflammatory ointment that smelled like crap, but was supposed to do the job. Afterwards, she covered the wound with a gauze patch and secured it with a bandage, only letting out a relieved breath when she finally stepped back and observed her handiwork.

 “See, Doctor Quinn? It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Owen offered her a small smile.

Claire arched an eyebrow at him. “Is there any medical TV you haven’t seen?”

“Aw, come on!  _Dr. Quinn_  was a classic.” He wrapped his good arm around her. “You okay? C’mere.” His lips brushed to the top of her head. He breathed in her scent as her body fit against his and she let out a shuddering sigh. “You did good. Hell, you did great.”

She nuzzled his cheek, his stubble scratching her skin. “Don’t ever,  _ever_ , ask me to do anything like this  _ever_  again,” she warned him, fingers that were still covered with his blood twisting the fabric of his shirt, holding on tight.

“Deal.” He ran his hand up and down her back. “Next time will use a stapler and a hot glue gun.”

“Next time?”

He kissed her temple again, soothed by her warmth against him, anchored by her presence. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. No, wait, it was anything but, actually.”

Owen pecked her on the lips. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Let’s just get this over--”

“Freeze!” A voice behind them ordered. “Don’t move.”

\---

For Lowery Cruthers, his work in Jurassic World was a dream wrapped in a dream wrapped in a dream. Granted, no seven-year old ever dreamt of sitting in a dark room in front of a dozen monitors, but how many seven-year olds grew up to work with actual, honest-to-God dinosaurs? Massacre and near death experience aside, this had been, so far, the best thing that ever happened to him.

The problem was, however, that he wasn’t entirely certain how far his ambition went, as far as park was concerned. Sure, he liked overviewing its smooth operation from the air-conditioned safety of the Control Room and yes, he’d jumped at the opportunity to come back despite logic, common sense, and what a normal person would call a self-preservation instinct.

That being said, he still didn’t see himself as an action hero of this particular story. What Claire did all those months ago with the flare and the T-Rex – it was so beyond his comprehension he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. During the investigation, he was asked if he thought it was the right thing to do or if there was any other way to contain the I-Rex without setting another dangerous animal loose, thus endangering the remaining guests even more in case it didn’t work out. 

Now, a few months later, he couldn’t recall what he said to them, exactly. His mind was in disarray back then, jet-lagged and sleep-deprived. What he knew was that it was badass. And that he’d never do anything of that kind himself. Certainly not while he continued sitting in the Control Room. Or, at this particular moment, getting Twizzlers from the vending machine.

Harris’s voice coming from the half-open door to his office stopped Lowery in his tracks, his ears straining to catch snippets of the conversation, more on instinct than out of curiosity.

“I don’t care that there’s still—Once again, I don’t care.” He paused. “They’re dangerous, and hell knows what they’re spreading just by existing.” He huffed. “This is not a shelter, this whole place is a one giant experiment. Are you seriously saying you’d risk catching whatever prehistoric shit Hammond overlooked because Grady told you to stay put?” Lowery went still at the sound of the chair wheels scraping along the floor. “I’m coming over. Let me check the feed and I’ll be there…” a pause, “…in fifteen, and we’ll put an end to this nonsense.”

“Oh, crap,” Lowery breathed out, eyes wide.

\---

“This is ridiculous!” Claire huffed. “They can’t keep us detained here.”

The good news was that they were not shot.

The bad, however, was that they were taken into custody by the InGen security who escorted them to the compound and locked them in what Claire guessed was someone’s office. However, to her, it looked like a prison cell, what with the bars on the windows. They were probably meant to keep anything from breaking in, but she was unnerved by them nonetheless. It was making her feel claustrophobic and antsy, and she had no idea how long it had been, but her pacing in the small space not cramped with the furniture was about to start wearing the carpet thin. If this was how the animals felt in their cages, no wonder they wanted to get out.

“I could try to knock down the door,” Owen suggested noncommittedly.

“It’s reinforced steel,” she pointed out with a sigh. “Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep breaking you.”

He walked over to the window, pulled the pane open and tested the bars. They were not likely to give in without the help of some heavy machinery. This building was breaking just about every fire safety regulation in existence, but these people knew what they were dealing with. In his mind, he could easily see the shops and cafes collapse like they were made of paper under the attack of the Pteranodons. There was no imagining what a herd of anything larger than that could do to a place like this. Once bitten twice shy, he thought. And in this case, ‘bitten’ wasn’t even a euphemism.

“How long had it been? A couple hours?” Claire asked.

“Twenty minutes,” he responded, turning to her, amused despite himself by her obvious bafflement.

Claire stopped in the middle of the room and let out a huff of frustration.

“Why are you so calm?”

“You want us both to start climbing the walls?” He inquired. “It’s what we came here for, right? To talk to Wu.”

“We don’t even know he’s here,” she reminded him, biting her lip. “For all I know, they’re calling the police.”

Owen leaned against the empty desk. “To say what? That we broke into a secret facility where they may or may not be cloning dangerous species? I’d like to see that happen, actually.”

“They still have no right to keep us locked up here,” she growled.

He rubbed his eyes and breathed out, “I know, honey. I know.”

Claire came over to him. “Honey? Where did that come from?”

“Sorry. Slipped out.” He grimaced a little.

“I don’t mind. I like it,” she said, her lower lip caught between her teeth to stop her from smiling because, God help her, this situation was anything but amusing. And yet… She pushed Owen’s hair from his face, pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “You feeling okay?”

“To which one of you should I respond?” He squirmed, and added when her eyes widened, “Kidding. I’m fine.”

He caught her hand and kissed her palm, eyes locked with hers.

Behind them, the door opened, making Claire step back involuntarily. Owen tensed beside her. 

“I should have known,” Henry Wu sighed as he walked into the room.

“Henry,” Claire wasn’t sure if she was more surprised or relieved to see him, despite the fact that Owen’s frown only deepened.

She should have been angry with Wu, and she was. They trusted him –  _everyone_  in the park trusted him to, well, not create something murderous. They trusted him to know what the hell he was doing, and the worst part was that no one but him was aware of what was actually going on, as far as cloning and gene splicing went. No one could tell him not to do it because no one else knew how far he’d gone. Claire would never deny her own responsibility for the tragedy, but the creation of the I-Rex was on Wu and Wu alone.

Not to mention the fact that he went underground during the investigation, allowing the late Simon Masrani’s name to be dragged through the dirt, which certainly didn’t spark any warm feelings in her. But right now, she found herself glad to see a familiar face. Being right about what was happening on Sorna felt like a punch in the gut, but at least there was a chance that they could possibly, maybe help the animals on Isla Nublar.

“Ms. Dearing,” Wu started. Cleared his throat. “Claire.” His eyes shifted to Owen. “Mr. Grady.”

“We need to talk,” Claire said.

He nodded.

“This is really not necessary,” Owen nodded to the two armed men walking behind them as they followed Wu to his office, their eyes sharp, hands gripping rifles in that unmistakable manner that suggested they wouldn’t hesitate to use them if they so much as blinked the wrong way. “You took all of our stuff. Even my gum. What do you think I’d do with it? Spit-ball you to death?”

“You were armed,” Wu shrugged without looking at him. “We couldn’t take any chances.”

“No shit,” Owen muttered under his breath. “You do know what lives out there, right?”

Wu slid a pass card through the slot and pushed the door open. “Not exactly my point, Mr. Grady.”

The convoy didn’t follow them inside, but Owen was certain they didn’t leave either, on the off chance he and Claire decided to stab Wu with a pencil or something. Good call, actually.

“Tea?” Wu offered.

“Oh, cut the--”

“Owen,” Claire warmed him.

“Well, I’m taking it’s not a social visit.”

Wu’s office was spacious, with the windows overlooking the lush greenery of a courtyard and a scatter of cottages in the distance. A passcode protected door led to the lab, and as much as Claire wanted to know what was hiding behind it, the sight of it gave her chills.

“I heard about your raptors, Mr. Grady,” Wu paused by his desk. “I’m sorry--”

“You have got to be kidding me right now,” Owen snickered.

Wu frowned. “You do understand that your being here is a serious violation--”

“I’d give you my phone to call the authorities, but your guys took it.”

“Henry,” Claire said before the confrontation went any further. “The animals at the park have been getting sick.” She studied his face for a moment or two, but it remained pensive and unreadable. “If you know how to stop it, please…” She trailed off, watching him uncertainly.

He turned to her, lips pursed into a thin line. “I don’t,” he said after a short pause, and added before Owen could pipe up, “It’s a… glitch in their immune system. I don’t know why it shuts down sometime or what causes it. Or how to prevent it.”

His answer felt like a sucker punch that left her deflated and gasping for air. Beside her, Owen cursed quietly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration that radiated off of him in waves.

“There must be something,” Claire said weakly, grasping at straws.

“You made them. You gotta be able to fix them,” Owen pointed out.

“That’s not how it works,” Wu scowled at him. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. Do you have any idea--”

“Look, I know you think you’re all high and mighty here…”

“You know what, Mr. Grady? I’m not--”

“Owen, stop,” Claire interjected. “Dr. Wu… Henry.” She turned to him. “I know it’s not an ideal situation, but those animals… They’re going to die. And if there’s anything…” She paused and took a deep breath. “Please.”

Wu shot a glare at Owen, and faced Claire. He considered her for a few long moments, with only the sound of the air conditioning interrupting the silence. Claire was pretty sure she could hear herself think. Hell, she could hear Wu think, the wheels spinning in his head, weighting the pros and cons of even talking to them instead of sicking a bunch of corporate lawyers on them.

“Give me one reason why I even should be discussing this with you right now.”

“Because they’re your animals, too,” Claire pointed out, which felt like playing a wild card. For all she knew, he was about to laugh her in the face.

Instead, Wu shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It started a couple months ago. At first, I thought it was some sort of a virus. But it wasn’t that. It’s a genetic problem affecting some of the assets, but sparing the others.” His irritation with his own inability to solve this puzzle was almost palpable. “The blood and tissue tests didn’t reveal anything substantial. Unfortunately, we don’t have any data to compare out findings to to determine the possible discrepancies. The earlier species inhabiting both this island and Isla Nublar never exhibited anything of this nature.”

Well, the good thing was, Claire thought, that whether or not Wu cared about the dinosaurs, at the very least, he was curious, and she knew that sometimes it was a much more powerful force than anything else. Curious and frustrated by not knowing what he was dealing with. In her experience, it was not a bad combination. Not in this particular situation, at least.

”I do not have a solution for this problem,” he admitted in the end. “But,” he looked from Claire to Owen and back to Claire, “we’ve been experimenting with something…”

\---

“You think we can trust him?” Barry asked a few hours later as he steered their speedboat toward the dock.  

“Well, if he tries to pull something on us, we know where to find him,” Owen responded grimly.

“I can’t believe they just let you guys go.”

“We’re not welcome back, but it’s not like they could actually do anything to us. Although I’m sure they will, in fact, start shooting everything that moves from now on and then claim a self-defense if it turns out to be a mail man.”

“You did  _what_?!” Claire snapped behind them, her voice equal parts astonished and disbelieving. Owen’s ears perked up at the sound of it, but her back was hard to read. “I’ll be right there,” she promised before hanging up her phone with a long exasperated sigh.

She looked up and found both Owen and Barry staring at her in bewilderment. She cleared her throat and handed Barry the metal case with the vials they got from Wu. “Take this to the vets and tell them to locate the sick animals immediately.” She hesitated for just a moment before letting go of the container, doubt written all over her face stirred an uneasy feeling in Owen’s stomach. He didn’t like not knowing what they were singing up for, and Claire’s uncertainty made it infinitely worse.

Barry nodded curtly.

“Okay, let’s go,” Owen said.

“Oh, no. You,” Claire jabbed a finger at his chest, “are going to get this checked.” She pointed fiercely to the bandage on his arm. “Now.”

Owen began to protest, but Barry patted him on the back, saying he’d done his job and took off, heading for the vet station in the fading light of the setting sun. Owen squinted, watching him go, then turned to Claire.

“What was that about?” He asked curiously, eyes darting to her phone.

She recounted her conversation with Lowery to him, ending it with, “So, to stop Harris from doing anything, he locked him in the elevator for almost four hours.”

Owen gaped at her. “You’re joking, right?” And then, “He wanted to just shoot them all?!”

“Well, he didn’t,” she told him in a diplomatic voice. “Because he couldn’t.” Sighed again. “We’re so getting fired if he catches the wind of what had happened.”

“Lowery’s a genius,” he chuckled and took her hand, interlacing their fingers as they started to walk back to the hotel. “I should be going out with him.” He glanced at he, waiting for a comeback, but she just kept staring straight ahead, face crowded with worry. It was the lack of any kind of response that unsettled him – so un-Claire-like. “Okay, what is it?” He asked.

“InGen is working for the military,” she said after a short pause. “And yet they let us go just like that. No reprimands, no threats, no calling to the headquarters to put us on probation for trespassing.” Claire stopped and turned to him, chewing anxiously on her lip. “Why?”

Owen furrowed his brows. “You think whatever Wu gave us is fake?”

She shook her head. “No. I think they have something else brewing. Something that made it easier to let us off the hook without a fuss than raising hell and risking the exposure.”

\---

“… _so you know how some of them were supposed to have the feathers?_ ” Gray didn’t even pause to take a breath or to allow Owen to say a word before he went on, “ _Like, wouldn’t it be cool if Blue had them, like the real Velociraptors did? I mean, they probably couldn’t make them that way_ \--”

“ _Or they knew that people wanted to see the monsters and not oversized chickens_ ,” Zach scoffed. Slouched in the chair behind his brother, he was tossing a tennis ball against the wall and catching it lazily. The Facetime image was grainy, but his attitude was all but tangible nonetheless. (Which sort of made Owen wonder how long it would take Karen to storm in and tell him to cut it off.)

Owen chuckled. “I guess they wanted to make them look the way people expected them to look,” he offered diplomatically.

The truth was, as far as he was concerned, the animals on the island were a result of sheer luck, and they could have quite easily ended up sporting not just the feathers, but maybe gills or hooves or whatever else as well. Not that he didn’t trust Hammond’s cloning techniques, but if some of them managed to change their gender back when Grant and Malcolm were still in the picture, they were probably capable of growing an extra limb if they needed it to survive.

It had been three days since they retrieved the medication from Wu, and so far, the sick dinosaurs seemed to be responding well to it. It wasn’t an immediate success, but their body temperature seemed to have stabilized and their appetite was returning as well.

Which was exactly why he dared to take a day off – the first one in what felt like quite a while. The last time he checked on Blue, she gave him a stink eye for having to endure injections twice a day, and he felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. Wu warned them that this formula wasn’t a sure thing and he didn’t have consecutive results to prove its efficiency, but it wasn’t until it started to work that Owen realized how much he’d hoped it would.

“ _I mean, they basically made the Mosasaurus from scratch_.” Gray went on. “ _Did you know that?_ ”

Owen’s brows shot up. “Pray tell.”

The boy’s face lit up. “ _Well, they used the blood from the mosquitoes and other bugs found in amber and stuff of get the DNA for the original species, right? But they couldn’t have gotten anything like that for an animal that lived in the water, so they had to_ \--”

“Owen, where is your…?” Claire stepped into the living room and cut off at the sight of Zach and Gray’s faces on the screen of his laptop, her eyes widening minutely. Towel-clad and with her hair still wet after the shower, she did not expect the company, however virtual it was.

“ _Hey, Aunt Claire_ ,” Gay waved at her.

“ _Hey, Aunt Claire_ ,” Zach echoed, craning his neck and all but choking on laughter, no longer bother to feign indifference.

In front of her, Owen looked almost comically smug, and she instantly felt the heat rise up her cheeks.

“Hey… guys,” she breathed out. Cleared her throat. Considered throwing herself out the window – remembered it would make no sense because, seeing as how Owen’s bungalow had only one floor, the ground was  _right_  there. “What are you…?” She swallowed, took a step back. “I’ve got to… I need to…”

“I’ll call you back, okay?” Owen said when she retreated to the bedroom, trying to ignore Gray’s curious look and Zach’s open guffaws in the background, more for Claire’s benefit than his own, and then ended the call despite their protests on, “I gotta go fix this.”

He found her in the bathroom, standing with her face burried in her hands, the steam from the shower she took not ten minutes ago still hanging think around her.

“Claire?”

She let out something akin a desperate groan.

“They called because you promised to but didn’t,” Owen tried again, walking closer to her, hands resting on her shoulders.

“I was going to,” she lowered her hands and looked up at him, face flushed. “In about fifteen minutes.” And added in a miserable voice. “I thought it was the TV. God, I already traumatized them once, and now…”

“I don’t think they were--” He shook his head, fighting off a fit of laughter. “That’s a good color of you.”

“Go on, make jokes,” she scowled at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “My sister is going to kill me.”

Owen pulled her closer, “Has anyone ever told you you can be very dramatic?”

She snapped her head up. “Dramatic? They’re not supposed to see me… us… like this. Like we are… it was inappropriate. I was wearing a towel, for heaven’s sake! In your house. And it’s not like this… us… is a secret, but it’s not exactly… and now Karen is going to have to send them into therapy because it’s… it’s…”

He smoothed down her hair, palms cupping her cheeks, before pressing his lips urgently to hers, swallowing the rest of what he was sure would’ve been a fun tirade to listen to had she not started to hyperventilate. A surge of affection coursing through him was so consuming he felt like he was drowning, his chest suddenly tight, his thoughts nothing but a jumble of snippets that didn’t fit together no matter how much he tried to put them into something coherent.

“Breathe, okay? You’re overthinking it,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “They were amused, I swear there wasn’t anything else to it.” His lips brushed against hers again, and then one more time, until he could no longer feel like her body was a tightly wound spring ready to uncoil.

Claire exhaled, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before focusing on his again. “I just wanted to find your hair-drier.”

“Top drawer,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Wanna go look for it?”

“Later,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Okay,” Owen’s grin spread wider, his hands tugging at her towel. “Now we have another problem to deal with.”

“Do we, really?”

“You’re too overdressed for the occasion.”

The towel fell to their feet as his hand slipped around her neck, bringing their lips together in a searing kiss.

\---

There was something incredibly sexy about making love with Owen in his tiny bungalow on a hot South American afternoon, with the soft breeze spilling in through the open windows and raising goosebumps on their heated bodies. He was sprawled underneath her on the sheets pooling around them, her legs framing his hips, his hands gripping her thighs, her waist, fingers digging into her flesh. Palms splayed on his chest, Claire moved above him, eyes barely ever leaving his – the dilated pupils stealing the green and turning them almost completely black.

With her hair falling around her face and the sun tangled in the silky, fiery waves, she looked so blissful, so damn beautiful it hurt.

Owen sat up, Claire in his lap, capturing her gasp with his mouth, arms wrapping tightly around her in a desperate need to feel all of her at once. His senses zeroed in on the two of them, the sensation of filling her, of her hands running through his hair, nails digging into his shoulders, the rhyme, the taste of her skin.

As their breathing grew more ragged and erratic, Claire arched her back to press closer to him, the tightness in her belly almost too much to bear. Owen’s mouth trailed down her neck, planting a kiss to the pulse point near her collarbone, her shoulder. The sound of her name falling from his lips turned her blood into liquid gold, her every nerve raw and exposed, until she was coming apart in his arms, the roar of blood in her ears making her miss his own grunt of release, but not the way it reverberated into her body, sparkling her alive.

Owen fell back onto the sheets, taking her with him, holding her close as Claire buried her face into his neck, her heartbeat seemingly set on making a world record, while the universe span around them in a colorful swirl.

She stayed still for a while, slowly drifting back to awareness, waiting for the reality to return to where it belonged while Owen’s heart drummed in her ear, and then turned her face up to look at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A lazy smile spread across his face and he craned his neck to kiss her slowly, deeply, his fingers running through her tangled hair. “Wanna take the rest of the week off?” He asked when she laid back down, her head tucked under his chin.

Claire snorted. “You’d get bored.”

Absently, his hand started tracing slow circles on her back. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

He kissed the top of her head, allowing his body to relax under the weight of hers, delighted and blissful, until he didn’t know where she ended and he began, her breath falling softly on his chest. This,  _her_  – it was just too damn good to be true. It certainly felt that way sometimes.

“You should go home, Claire.” He said after a long pause.

“Now?” She didn’t look up, but he could all but feel her arched eyebrow, a giggle building up in her chest. “Not even ten minutes after…?” Her lips brushed to his collarbone. “Wait, do you have another hot date coming up?”

Owen let out a long breath. “No, I mean  _home_  home. To California.” He stayed quiet for a few moments, listening to the clock ticking on the wall, watching the curtains sway in the light breeze that smelled of wet earth and orchids. How could this place be so deceiving was beyond him. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

She lifted her head, studying his clouded expression with concern, eyes narrowed slightly. “Okay,” she said at last. “But what about Wu? What about Caldwell? You want to just forget about everything we found out?”

“That’s not what I said.”

 _What about Blue_ , she wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. Claire bit her lip, then shook her head. “I supposed we can figure out what to do with it someplace else. Let’s go back.”

His features grew pained and he flinched visibly. “Well, I still gotta finish some things here…”

She frowned, incredulous. “Are you asking  _me_  to go? To  _leave_  you here? Alone?”

“Well, alone is hardly the case--”

“No. No way.” She interjected, voice firm and leaving no room for argument.

But when did that ever stop him?

“Claire…”

“Not an option.” She pursed her lips into a stubborn line.

“I can’t lose you.” His voice dropped, a surge of panic she saw in his eyes almost palpable. “I can’t let anything happen to you, and here…” He swept the room with his glance and ran a hand down his face. “I can’t keep you safe in this place. Every time you’re gone, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again or if you get mauled by the T-Rex. Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

“Yes,” she murmured, hating the tremor in her voice. “I do. And I’m not going anywhere, not without you. Together, remember?”

She wondered if she could bring herself to admit that half the time she wasn’t capable of making it through the night without him, only able to catch a moment of shut eye when she could hear the reassuring sound of his breathing beside her. That whenever she heard the animals’ cries in the jungle, she couldn’t help picturing their teeth tearing him apart. That she could not, under any circumstances, lose him, too.

Owen reached out to tuck strands of hair behind her ear. “My offer to take the rest of the week off still stands.”

She was tempted to remind him that he was absolutely going to overview the feeding later today – and yes, she was perfectly aware of that, thank you very much. But instead she stretched over him to grab her phone from the nightstand to make sure they were not in the middle of one crisis or another (because everything seemed to be a crisis these days) before settling comfortable against him again, seeping in the warmth of his body, her mouth brushing light kisses to whatever skin she could reach.

“It was ballet, you know,” Claire admitted after a while with a resigned sigh.

“Huh?”

“I did ballet, as a kid. But only because Karen was into it and only for a little while because it turned out I was exceptionally uncoordinated.”

He let out a short laugh that sounded a bit too triumphant for her taste.

“And it was a big secret why?”

“I didn’t want to be… predictable,” she retorted defensively.

“Please tell me there were pictures and you still have them,” he drawled with glee, earning a slap of her hand to his chest. “Have you not met you, Claire?” Owen chuckled with disbelief. “You’re anything but predictable.”

“No wonder the PR team thinks I’m a nightmare” She scoffed, pleased that he couldn’t see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she pressed a long, sensuous kiss to his neck.

They stayed like that until the sun shifted, inching toward the trees and Owen’s breath slowed down, growing deeper.

“Don’t go,” he muttered sleepily when she stirred.

“I’m here,” Claire promised, disentangling herself from him. “But I have some work to do. Can I use your laptop?”

He rolled over onto his stomach, claiming the warm spot she’d left behind and murmured something unintelligible under his breath that she chose to interpret as a yes. She pulled on his shirt, rolling up the sleeves, then bent over to brush her hand through his rumpled curls, unable to resist the urge to kiss him one more time. If he was thinking that she would leave him behind, he was an idiot.

And yes, there were pictures. And no way would she ever let him get his hands on them.

In the kitchen, she made a fresh pot of coffee and ravaged his stash of granola bars before making her way to the counter where Owen had left his laptop earlier. She called Karen to check if there was any damage control that needed to be done, relieved to figure out by the tone of the conversation that the boys kept their mouths shut, and then finally turned to attention to her overflowing inbox, promptly deleting everything that looked like it might have come from the media without reading.

There was a press call scheduled for the next week – something the Legal Department insisted on to keep the public curiosity, and rage, at bay. The thought of answering the same old questions made Claire’s stomach turn, but it was a small price to pay for not having to deal with the repercussions of ‘No comment’. Granted, they never revealed anything even remotely important, but repeating the same empty words over and over again created an illusion of openness that seemed to be working so far. If there was anything they’d learned from their past mistakes, it was that shutting people out was a perfect ground for growing rumors and conspiracy theories. If someone called her a murderous bitch and egged her car one more time, she’d seriously start considering changing her name and moving to Argentina.

She called the Control Room to get a status report and then went through her general agenda, wincing inwardly at the idea of having to figure out eventually what they were going to do about the T-Rex. Despite Harris’s insistence, Claire was reluctant to lock her up again, but leaving her wandering around meant that she’d probably end up feasting on smaller and less aggressive species, and it didn’t seem like the best option either.

Owen was still asleep when the sun started to go down, the shadows creeping around her forcing Claire to either wrap it up for the day or turn on the lights. She shut down the computer and wandered back into the bedroom.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she called, climbing into bed and scooting close to him, arm tucked under her head. “You’ve got no food in this house, and I’m starving.”

Owen groaned sleepily, eyes blinking open. “Hi,” he croaked, is voice hoarse.

Something was off.

His gaze was bleary, eyes gassy. With a sinking feeling, Claire pressed a palm to his cheek and her stomach twisted into a knot. He looked pale, his skin hot and clammy.

“Owen?”

“I think we might have to cancel the party, I don’t really feel…”

“What hurts?” Claire asked when he trailed off.

“Don’t know.” He grimaced.

She sat up and carefully peeled off the corner of the bandage covering Owen’s arm.

“Oh, God,” she breathed out.

She was no medic, but even she could tell that after a few days and some antibiotics, his wound should’ve looked like it was healing. Instead, it was red and raw and clearly inflamed.

“It’s going to be okay, okay? I’ll make it okay.” _Oh, God.  Oh, God.  Oh, God_.  She pushed her fingers through his hair and pressed her forehead to his for a moment as a cold hand of panic clutched her in a tight grip. “I swear it’s going to be fine.”

“You’re being dramatic again,” Owen whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

Claire scrambled up from the bed, her mind reeling.

They needed a doctor. They needed a hospital. They needed help.

She grabbed her phone, wondering if she should be calling 911 or coast guard – because she was not going to let anything happen to him, not on her watch. Not as long as she was alive. But just then it started to ring, Barry’s caller ID blinking on the screen, waiting for her to pick up.

“Barry,” she started without so much as hello.

“ _Claire, we have a problem_ ,” he said before she had a chance to say another word, his voice panicked and urgent.

Her eyes darted toward Owen, stomach twisting into a tight knot.

“What is it?” She asked weakly, uncertain of how many bad news she could handle.

“ _The vaccinated animals… They got worse. Much worse_.”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were too happy, so naturally everything had to go wrong. I'm not sorry ;) 
> 
> Please comment :) It really helps if I know whether you like it or not!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this? If yes - please, dig in! :)  
> And it took me only about 10 days to update instead of, I don't know, a month. Wow...

On _that_ day at the park, there had been a moment, near the very end, when the time slowed down for Claire. Up until then, she’d kept catching herself waiting for a grand resolution of it all. For someone to sweep in and save the day and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But the truth was, she didn’t see the end of it, and the alternative was terrifying.

Maybe if they’d tried harder or run faster…

But it wasn’t that. Of course, it wasn’t that.

No one was coming to save them. It was up to them to save themselves.

And when the T-Rex stepped out of the darkness, her teeth bared, and the flare started to burn Claire’s hand, she finally had a grip on reality again.

Owen was right. It wasn’t about control because no one could control everything. Hell, half the time she couldn’t control _anything_. But she was good at taking action. It made her feel whole when her world was collapsing around her and her sanity was hanging by a thread.

Standing in the doorway leading to Owen’s bedroom, Barry’s voice still trying to break through to her over the rush of blood in her ears, Claire felt paralyzed, overwhelmed with panic.

But in the end, it all came down to this – she needed Owen, and she needed him to be alive.

Once this was set, everything else simply fell into place.

Following the protocols to the letter had always been Claire’s thing, and even though there wasn’t, technically, a protocol for this particular situation, the logical course of action was pretty straightforward.

Claire told Barry to let the vets handle the animals and explained Owen’s situation. By the time they made it to the mainland – because she was not delusional enough to assume she could fix it on her own – there was an ambulance waiting for them, and she had never been more grateful for anything in her entire life.

Barry followed them to the hospital, but as soon as the medical staff was in charge, she sent him back to the island, promising to stay in touch. Using whatever Spanish she’d picked up over the years at the park, she explained Owen’s condition as best she could, allowing them to figure out the rest, and only breathed out a sigh of relief when they wheeled him away to take care of him.

“ _What do you mean, at the hospital?_ ”

Claire pulled the phone away from her ear and offered an apologetic smile to a middle-aged couple sitting next to her in the waiting room who couldn’t have possibly missed her sister’s shriek. Hell, the whole Wisconsin must’ve been in on their conversation.

“It’s not like…” Claire got up to her feet and walked over to the vending machine, pretending to study the selection of snacks to get a semblance of privacy without leaving the area. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Karen drawled. “ _Then why are you at the hospital_?”

 _Because we keep on thinking we’re invincible_.

“Owen had an accident,” Claire explained. “But it’s all right now, nothing to worry about.” God, she hoped she was a convincing enough liar for her sister to buy it. “Do you always assume the worst when I call?”

“ _You live in a dinosaur-infested hellhole, Claire. What else am I supposed to think?_ ”

“That sometimes I miss you?”

 _“It’s 2 in the morning, and in my defense, you only call when something’s wrong. Like that time when my children nearly turned into snacks. Or when what’s-his-name lost the votes on_ The Voice.”

“That’s not true! I called you… you remember, that time…”

Karen snorted. “ _My point exactly._ ”

“Well, everything is fine.” Claire rubbed her forehead, her eyes running again and again over the price of Cheetos. “I’m sorry about the time. I didn’t realize… I’m sorry.”

“ _No, it’s okay. It’s not like I have to be up in 4 hours_.” Her sister said. “ _So, everything is fine?_ ”

“They should save everyone the trouble and just add ‘dinosaur-related injuries’ to the insurance policy already.” Claire muttered, stifling a yawn. Up until now, she didn’t quite bother paying attention to what time it was, but the moment Karen mentioned it, it was like someone turned the switch.

“ _Work on it while you’re there_.” Karen joked. “ _Hey, you sure you’re okay_?”

“Yeah, I told you--”

“ _No, I mean_ okay _okay, you know? Not strictly right now_.”

Claire looked at the double doors leading to the ‘personnel only’ corridor, a couple sitting in the plastic chairs, a kid of about 4 with a coloring book and his bleary-eyed and tired mother in the corner. Calling any of this okay would’ve been a major overstatement, all things considered.

Just then, the doors opened and the doctor Claire spoke to a little while ago stepped into the waiting area, his glance quickly scanning the room and fixing on her. He motioned to her to follow him.

As if only now remembering that Karen was still on the phone she nodded even though her sister couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I think so.”

\---

The first time Owen woke up a couple of hours later, his mind was fuzzy, his eyelids heavy and uncooperative.

“Hey,” he croaked and Claire leaped up from her chair by the wall where she’d stayed ever since she ignored the nurse’s reassurance that he was going to be fine and her persistent request to go get some rest of her own.

( _“We don’t normally let people in the ICU.”_ Claire chose to pretend she didn’t understand, but the nurse didn’t put up a fight, probably for the sake of her own sanity.)

“Hey,” she smiled weakly, her lips trembling as an overwhelming sense of relief washed over her, so powerful it all but knocked her off her feet. “How are you feeling?”

“I had a weird dream,” he confessed in a groggy voice, laced with medication the hospital had put him on. “You were there. And then you weren’t. But you’re here now.”

“Where else would I be?” She inquired softly with a curious tilt of her head.

“Anywhere. Wherever you want,” Owen suggested wearily.

“Well, there’s your answer right there.” Her hand closed around his, squeezing it.

“Am I still dreaming?”

Claire’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Does it feel like it?”

His fingers flexed around hers, his eyes focusing on her face for a long moment before fluttering shut again. “Always.”

It was stupid and sentimental, and straight out of a cheesy flick, and under any other circumstances she wouldn’t have rolled her eyes or scoffed, but right now, there was a burning lump in her throat and she had to blink fast before… before…

Once he was out of the woods, they transferred him out of the ICU and to a room on the same floor, and the medical stuff finally kicked her out for the night. Which, honestly, made no sense to Claire, seeing as how it was 5 in the morning and the visiting hours weren’t that far away.

“He is stable,” the doctor had assured her, even though Claire found it hard to believe him – not because she doubted his competence, but because she kept waiting for something to go terribly, awfully wrong the moment she let her guard down. “You did good by bringing him here, but there’s nothing else for you to do. What he needs now is some rest.” He paused. “And so do you.”

Claire was about to protest that it wasn’t about _doing_ something so much as about not losing her mind with worry, but it didn’t seem like the battle she could win.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said without a greeting a little while later when Karen picked up the phone again.

“ _The fact that you say it like this makes it sound even worse_ ,” she pointed out. On her end of the line, Claire could hear the clatter of pots and pans, the beep of the coffee machine. Somewhere in the background, Zach yelled at Gray to get out of the bathroom, promptly calling Karen to come get her younger son to behave. She ignored it entirely. “ _It’s like saying ‘Just don’t freak out’ before you tell someone their house has burned down._ ”

Claire leaned against the wall in the hallway, watching the nurse adjust Owen’s pillow and take his vitals through the open blinds. “How would I know if you house has burned down?”

“ _Not the point, Claire. How’s Owen_?”

“Good. Better. I just wanted…” _to hear a familiar voice_. She shifted from foot to foot, her calves aching. “Well, now you know I don’t only call with bad news.”

“ _Okay, let’s talk good news. When were you going to tell me you moved in together_?”

“We… what? Where did you--”

“ _My sons mentioned it in passing. Like it was common knowledge_.”

“It wasn’t. It’s not.” Claire took a deep breath. “We didn’t. It’s not like that.”

“ _Hey, if you’re happy, I’m happy, is all I’m trying to say_.” There was another yelp and Karen pulled her phone away from her ear to bark, “ _Zach, cut it out! Gray, we’re leaving in five!_ ” Then she was back. “ _Just… just don’t do that thing you always do, Claire_.”

“What thing?”

“ _When you pull away when something… when people get too much, you know?_ ” She paused, then sighed. “ _I’ve seen you do it before and I know it’s how your defense mechanisms work, but being strong doesn’t mean you have to be alone_.”

Claire bit her lip. “I’m way too tired to process what you’re saying right now. And I should let you go. Sound like you’re having your hands full.”

Karen didn’t push. “ _Scott’s having the boys for the day, but I have to drop them off_.”

“How’s everything with the two of you?”

“ _We don’t talk much, and as long as it stays that way, we’re good_.”

Claire smiled ruefully. “Well, I guess I’m learning from the best.”

She asked Karen to say hi to Zach and Gray for her and ended the call, promising not to disappear again.

Next, she called Barry with an update and got some news from him. By the time she was allowed to come back to the hospital, she’d rented a room at the motel a few blocks down the street – to keep her stuff and to take a proper shower. It was small and nothing like the place she’d normally choose, but the clientele was mainly local travelers who paid no mind to her, and this far away from the main tourist attractions, it felt safe.

San Jose was an odd experience to her. After the quiet tranquility of the island, it seemed loud and hectic, assaulting her senses with sounds and smells, making her head spin and her heart beat faster. But after living under constant scrutiny in California, Claire found herself almost invisible here. The reports about Jurassic World and the related investigations still popped up on the local news channels, but in her shorts and a non-decrepit tee, she looked just like another tourist. As it turned out, being unrecognized was a vastly underrated privilege. A liberating one, at that.

At some point, Claire talked to Lowery on the off-chance he didn’t know where she’d been gone - he didn’t – and asked him to keep her in the loop in case something requiring her attention came up, artfully dodging his nosy questions.

She spent the rest of the day at the hospital, curled up in a plastic chair by the sleeping Owen while the TV perched high up on the wall played something on mute, only occasionally leaving his room to get more coffee or a snack from the machine in the hallway or to answer her phone on the patio, lest they kick her out for breaking the No cellphones rule. A few times, she’d caught _un dinosaurio_ mentioned in hushed conversations in the corridor, but sure they’d seen worse than that in the aftermath of the tragedy at the park, so she chose to disregards the looks the staff cast her way. At least they weren’t after a sensational story or a statement or some other crap.

The next time Owen woke up, it was way after the visiting hours were over. Claire knew she was about to be politely asked to leave for the night when he started to stir.

Confused and disoriented, he blinked a few times while his eyes adjusted to the overhead lights, then turned to her, eyebrows knit together. “Claire?”

She pulled her chair up to his bed, smiling weakly. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he smiled back, reached for her hand. “What happened?”

“Your wound got infected,” she explained. “I had to take you to the hospital.”

He looked around once again as if her words were not enough and he needed to double-check it for himself, taking in the white walls, sparse furnishings, beeping machines to the right from him and the now turned off tv.

“No wonder I feel both high and hungover,” he observed. “Are _you_ okay?” He asked her, his thumb running over her knuckles, forehead wrinkled with concern, his eyes searching her face.

“It’s not me who’s hooked to electrolytes,” she pointed out.

Owen cracked a smile that faded almost as fast as it appeared. He swallowed, conflicted. “And… Blue?”

“She’s fine,” Claire assured him after a moment of hesitation.

“Claire…”

“I swear she is. I would tell you if she wasn’t. You know that, right?”

His fingers curled around hers. “But?”

Claire sighed, her gaze apologetic. “We had to put down two other animals. I’m sorry.”

Owen cursed under his breath, wincing when the shift of his body shot a jolt of pain up his arm.

“You can’t save them all,” she whispered and he shook her head.

“I know I can’t, I just…”

“Find it hard accept it,” she finished.

“Sounds about right.” He sighed.

Claire reached out to press her palm to his forehead. It still felt too hot to her, but maybe her hands were too cold with fear – or air conditioning. She knew for certain that he was doing better because no one was running around him, which, as far as she was aware, was about as best as it could possibly get at this point. But he still looked too pale for her liking, his usually easy smile too forced, and it made something inside of her ache.

“What were you thinking?” She asked with accusation.

“You really need to be more specific here.” He caught her hand, held it to his cheek.

“I thought you had this taken care of,” she pointed to the fresh bandage on his arm.

“I had. You were there, remember? They checked the stitches – which you did a decent job with, by the way – changed the dressing, pumped me with antibiotics and told me to--” He cut off with a grimace.

“Told you what, Owen?” She demanded.

He eyed her with a sort of trepidation. “To come back later so that they’d make sure it wasn’t getting infected.”

Claire exhaled sharply. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I had…. other concerns.” He protested defensively.

She was up on her feet in a heartbeat, his room not big enough to hold both of them _and_ her anger. “Are you kidding me? You could have died. You could have… you could have burned through the goddamn helicopter your fever was so bad. They had to do blood transfusion, Owen! You know what that means, right?”

“That you were very attached to my old blood?” He suggested.

“That we barely made it here on time.” Claire snapped. “It was… it was…”

“Luck?”

“Stupidity. You scared the hell out of Barry, you—you scared me. I thought you…” All of a sudden, her lungs didn’t seem to be able to hold enough air for her to say more than one word at a time, her chest too tight. “And only _hours_ after your profound speech about how the island wasn’t a safe place for me. After you promised, after you said--” She huffed, feeling both frustrated and ridiculous because it was such a stupid thing to bring up, but she needed him and he _promised_.

“Well, technically, I think it started maybe a bit earlier than that.”

Claire froze, breathless, deflated, her cheeks flushed. “You know what? The next time I hope the T-Rex eats you.”

He started at her for a few moments, eyes wide, before his lips stretched into a broad smile.

“What’s so funny?” She asked with a  frown, like maybe he’d lost his mind.

“Nothing. It’s just… That’s a good look on you.”

She looked down at her shorts, then at him again. “You really are high.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Owen shook his head. “Well, that, too. But not just that.” She kept glaring at him from her spot in the center of the room. He sighed, his smile dimming. “You look haunted, Claire. Half the time, you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin, and when you think no one’s watching, you look downright terrified. And this,” he gave her a pointed once-over, “is the first time you’ve been this worked up about something since… since you gave me that exciting speech about my first date wardrobe choices.” His lips curved into a somewhat rueful smile. “I missed it.”

“Driving me crazy?” She inquired, folding her arms over her chest.

“You.” He scrubbed a tired hand down his face. “You being _you_.”

For a moment or two, she just stared at him wondering how exactly did she end up in a universe where Owen Grady kept catching her off guard time and time again.

 “You really are insane,” she declared – because it was so much easier to say that than to admit even to herself that his words felt like a sucker-punch and that she was all but suffocating under his gaze.

“I work with raptors,” he reminded her. “That should’ve clued you in a long time ago.” Arm outstretched, he whispered, “C’mere.”

With a sigh, she plopped back into the chair, hand grabbing his and squeezing it tight, her lips trembling. “You scared me.” She repeated.

“I’m sorry.” His face fell. “I’m fine, Claire, I swear. Lesson learned – no more taking risks, okay?”

“Like you can keep that promise,” she grumbled.

“Is that why you’re crying?”

“I’m not…” Claire stopped to wipe a traitorous tear form her cheek. “You’re such a hypocrite, Owen. You keep telling me life is not about control, and then you go and do something like this because you need to be in control of everything.” She sucked in a sharp breath as if not trusting her lungs to fill properly. “You were burning up so bad.”

“And you brought me here,” he reminded her softly. “You fixed everything.”

She dropped her head down onto her folded arms, her forehead was pressed to the back of his hand, so that he couldn’t see her tears. “It's not like I had a choice,” she murmured.

Owen let out a short laugh, his other hand smoothing down her hair. “God, I love you.”

 ---

The text came a little before midnight just as Claire was about to slip into bed, half-mad at the hospital personnel for persistently telling her to leave, half-grateful for not having to spend the night in a chair. But mostly happy about _why_ they wouldn’t let her stay.

“The 24-hour visiting privilege only extends to the family members of the terminal patients,” the nurse explained to Claire, her voice firm, before shooing her out of Owen’s room after dinner. For once, Claire didn’t argue.

She lingered in the hallway for a while – partly because she didn’t like being told what to do, even by the people in white coats, and partly because even the idea of going back to her empty hotel room where she’d want to climb walls was making her sick. Claire took in the medical personnel zipping past her on their way someplace or the other, at the patients, and in her mind, she could see so easily the chaos and panic filling these corridors when the parks guests started to arrive on the mainland, shocked, hurting.

And it was that image that finally chased her out and into the humid evening, pushing her toward the flimsy safety of her small room where nothing was lurking in the corners.

Claire picked up her phone from the nightstand, smiling despite herself.

 _Can’t sleep. Miss you. Wish you were here_.

 _I miss you, too_. She typed immediately and pressed send. And then added a follow-up one, _Except I wish_ you _were here. I’ve had enough of that hospital_.

The answer arrived not half a minute later. You’ve _had enough of this hospital? You don’t even know how bad their room service is_.

Smiling, she climbed onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, one leg tucked under her body. _You okay?_

 _Yeah_ , he wrote. _The food is terrible. Think you could sneak in some beer for me?_

It was easy, she thought. This mindless chatter. So normal it felt surreal. _Wouldn’t that be breaking like 10 rules or something?_ She responded. _And how come you’re using the phone?_

 _I’m sneaky,_ Owen bragged, and she could picture his smug grin. _And, technically, alcohol is disinfectant. I can’t understand why they don’t encourage it here. I mean, you know, it probably wouldn’t hurt_.

 _That’s now how it works, I’m afraid_.

Her phone was quiet for a moment before the next message arrived. _And there’s this nurse named Estella who’s taller than me and twice as strong. She brought me three extra helpings of green Jell-O already. You have to save me._

 _From green Jell-O or Estella?_ She inquired, biting her lip before her face split into the kind of smile that could crack her whole head open, giddy for the reasons she couldn’t explain. God knew, a dingy room that also had questionable service couldn’t count as one.

 _Both. Everyone knows that the green Jell-O is the worst. And I’m feeling very vulnerable, being half naked and all that_.

Claire scoffed under her breath. _I bet you do._

His response was immediate. _Seriously, you’ve gotta help me_.

 _No, but I have to see it_ , she wrote. _Save some of that show for tomorrow for me, will you?_

There was nothing else for a while, but just as she decided that he must have fallen asleep – which was not a bad idea, come to think of it; not that she expected it to happen to her anytime soon, what with her mind being too awake, too restless – when the screen blinked with another message.

 _I meant it, Claire_.

She bit her lip, staring at the words for a while, her stomach twisting at the memory, at the way the words seemed to have washed over her, easy and natural and like everything she’d ever wanted to hear.

 _I know_. She responded after a short hesitation. Her finger lingered over _I_ , before she typed, _Me, too_.

\---

Owen’s fever put up a serious fight and his doctor decided to keep him at the hospital for a couple more days, specifically until it was time to remove the stitches. And while his health and color improved, he grew progressively more restless and frustrated, reminding Claire of a caged animal, trapped and eager to escape.

She’d probably be more sympathetic had it not been his fault, which she seldom forgot to remind him about. And had it not been so amusing to watch, of course.

To keep him from losing his mind, she took it upon herself to keep him entertained, which was a no-brainer, really, because all it took was to stay with him.

Outside, the world was waiting, huge and terrifying, but in the confines of his hospital room, they chose, by unspoken agreement, to forget about the reporters and the looming court hearings and the hybrids and death. Instead, she told him embarrassing Thanksgiving stories, pulling the ones from the depths of her memory she didn’t even know were still there. She told him the plot of a cheap paperback from the gift shop downstairs that kept her company in the evenings and recounted the storyline of the film she watched when she wasn’t able to fall asleep.

In turn, Owen shared some memories from his time in the NAVY, the heat of the desert, and ups and downs, and the whys and the hows, easily slipping into the anecdotes about the raptors – something he hadn’t been keen on discussing until now because it hurt too much.

The ending of this all was still something none of them could see clearly, so for now, only the beginnings mattered.

“You need to get me out of here,” Owen said on the morning of his release day while she sat perched on the edge of his bed, her hand clasped around his.

“Nah ah, not a chance,” Claire responded immediately, and frowned for good measure lest he assume she was joking. “Not until you’re cleared to go. Which is…” she checked the time on her phone, “not for another four hours.”

“Aren’t you sick of this place yet?” He tried a different approach.

She was.

And she also wasn’t.

Ever since the tragedy at the park, Claire had been living and breathing that story, and this, however unpleasant, was a much needed break from the island. One she grew to appreciate despite the grim circumstances that led to it. 

It didn’t feel like getting her life back together. Not exactly. Not yet. But it felt like a step in the right direction – a much needed perspective so she could see that her whole existence wasn’t spinning around that one thing that happened to her. That there was more to it.  

She didn’t respond, smiling instead. “I have a surprise for you.”

At that, Owen perked up. “Please tell me it’s that black thing that I like and that you’re wearing it right now,” he asked.

She scoffed. “Well, no. For one thing, we’re at the hospital…”

“Not for long,” he reminded her quickly.

“It’s still a no,” Claire waved him off. “I got Alan Grant to come here.”

As expected, that got Owen’s attention alright. “ _Here_ here?” He asked skeptically.

She shrugged – like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t sworn to stay at least 2000 miles away from Costa Rica ten years ago and never broke that resolution until now.

“He’s curious,” she explained. “And he’s the only person aside from Wu who might have some answers.”

“And he said yes? Just like that?”

“Well, no. There was a great deal of persuasion involved. What do you think I was doing when I wasn’t watching Nickelodeon with you?” Claire sighed, looked down at the knot of their hands, then up at him again. “I didn’t know who else to turn to. And it’s not like I asked him to go back to the island.” A pause. “I mean, I did. But you can imagine what his response to that was.”

Owen let out a short laugh. “You’re something else, Claire.” He shook his head. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard in the past few months,” she said.

He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, pulling her down until her hair was brushing against his face and he could see nothing but her eyes – jade-green with golden specs, pulling him in and keeping him whole, their light filling the cracks and healing the broken parts of him.

“You’re something else,” he repeated in a whisper as if it was an epiphany of sorts he was still trying to come in terms with.

Claire smiled, locking her lips with his. 

\---

“This is ridiculous,” Owen pointed out later in the afternoon. “Ridiculous and embarrassing, I must say.”

“You mustn’t,” Claire responded, “But when did it ever stop you?”

She dismissed the porter that brought the wheelchair to take Owen downstairs – hospital policy – and chose to push it herself, saving the people who somehow didn’t smother him in his sleep despite his being an unbearable patient from this task. She had already received strict instructions from a weary-looking nurse to bring him back immediately if his fever returned and a reminder to change the dressing regularly until the wound started to scar, pocketing the bottles of prescribed painkillers and antibiotics.

“I’m not an invalid,” he grumbled defensively.

“You do understand that they’re kicking you out because they can’t wait to get rid of you, right?”

He glance at her over his shoulder. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, no?”

“You told them you’d climb out of the window if they didn’t let you go,” she hissed as the front doors slid open before them, and half a second later, he was on his feet.

“It was an empty threat,” Owen scoffed. “My room was on the third floor.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Claire deadpanned, nodding her thanks to a nurse who took the chair. “You suggested they have wheelchair races.”

“That was a reasonable request,” he responded quickly. “I swear, half of their clientele would benefit from it.”

“They’re patients, not clientele,” she retorted.

He swung his arm around her shoulders, and stiffened, wincing. “Wrong one.”

“Case in point,” Claire continued, stepping to the other wise of him and taking his hand, lacing their fingers together as they started toward her motel. She wanted to call for a cab or rent a car, but since it was only a few blocks away, Owen insisted they walked, restless and antsy after spending three days in bed. It was a miracle he didn’t climb out that goddamn window, she decided. “I just signed something that left you in my care. If you rip your wound open and bleed out and die, it would be on me.”

“Then let’s not let it happen.” He stopped, causing her to pause as well. Propping her chin on his knuckle, he dipped his head to catch her lips with his as the crowd parted around them, chatting animatedly. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling – to know that he owed her his life – and it made him feel warm on the inside. “Thank you.”

Her mouth twisted, “I’d say _my pleasure_ , but if you do something like this one more time, I swear to God I’ll strangle you myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In the motel room, Owen flopped down onto the bed with a grimace and an _Ow!_

“Could you at least _try_ not to maim yourself even more?” Claire asked while she checked her phone for new voicemail messages, ignoring all of them that weren’t from the Masrani executives or Lowery. “If you hurt yourself again, I’ll send you straight back to the hospital and have them keep you for another week.”

“That’s inhumane,” he gasped, horrified, making the corners of her lips lift up.

Claire put her phone on silent and set it on the bedside table. “You hungry?”

He shook his head. “That green Jell-O will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Claire rummaged around her bag for his pills, then pulled a bottle of water from the mini fridge and handed it to him before setting the medication down on the dresser.

“Anything stronger in there?” Owen craned his neck toward the mini fridge, curious. 

“Sure, let’s wash some painkillers down with alcohol and get the party started,” she deadpanned.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her down until she was sitting beside him, his thumb running absently over her pulse point, making her wish she could read his mind, if only to figure out how on earth could the way he was looking at her go straight to her heart, making her _breathless-dizzy-elated_.

“You’ve taken such good care of me, and I don’t even know what I did to deserve it,” he said softly.

She pushed her hair out of her face, looping it around her ear. Smiled. The list was so goddamn endless actually she wouldn’t even know where to begin. “You say it like affection needs to be earned.”

“It doesn’t?”

Claire rolled her eyes with a snort. “For someone so smart, you can be awfully dense sometimes.”

“You and your fancy words.” Owen shook his head, looking about a giddy as she felt.  

\---

The sky opened up at sunset, heavy rain washing away the heat as the peals of thunder made the ground shake, rattling the windows. The old hotel shifted and shuddered with every clap as if wishing it could take off and run for the shelter, away from the merciless fury and pitch-black clouds pierced with blinding jolts of lightning.

It was still raining when Owen woke up sometime around 2 in the morning to find Claire standing by the window and watching the glistening rivers stream down the pane, yellow and pale-white and purple, highlighted by the streetlamps and a neon sign over a small convenience store across the street, a hypnotic kaleidoscope. Dressed in his shirt and with her hair hanging loose over her back, she looked transfixed.

Groggy from sleep and pain medication, he climbed out of the bed rubbing her eyes, and padded toward her, picking up a spare blanket from the couch where she’d left in earlier in case they needed it. He threw it over her shoulders and then crossed his arms around her, pulling her flat against him.

“What’s wrong?” Owen whispered into her hair.

“I can’t believe how strong the rain is,” Claire responded quietly. “Can’t remember a storm so fierce.”

“No, no that.” He insisted, but she didn’t say anything else. “You need to sleep, Claire. You need to have some rest. Let’s go to bed.”

“I can’t,” she said after a moment, her voice small, thick with fear. “I close my eyes and… I thought I’d lost you. And now I keep thinking that I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And I can’t…” Her breath caught in her throat and she fell silent.

“I’m here,” he murmured. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around, her features hidden. His arms closed around her as Claire buried her face in his shirt with a shuddered breath and the blanket fell down to their feet. “I’m here and I swear to God I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can’t lose you,” she muttered, her voice muffled and hot against his skin, her grip on him panicked and desperate. “I don’t know how to need people, but I need you. If something happened to you, Owen, if you…” She trailed off, falling silent for a moment. “I don’t know what I’d have done if I lost you.”

The floor was cold beneath her feet, but it was the dread rising up inside of her that made Claire shiver. She’d somehow managed to do pretty damn fine for 34 years without him. Now the very idea of not having Owen around was unfathomable. Absurd. She’d be fine, of course. She’d learn to adapt if had to. But she’d never be whole again.  

“Shh.” Owen brushed a kiss to the top of her head, wishing he could fold her whole body into his and never let go – the only real thing he knew, the only one that mattered. “It’s fine. We are fine.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been taking care of you and this,” Claire sighed, “is not it.”

He huffed under his breath, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. “You’re doing plenty. Come on.” He steered her toward the bed, wrapping his arm around her as she curled into him, careful not to hurt him. Owen let out a long sigh and closed his eyes, his hand tracing slow circles over her back.

“It scares me sometimes,” Claire said after a while, her voice nothing but a whoosh of breath barely audible through the cacophony of the storm and the handfuls of rain the wind kept throwing against the window.

“The weather?” He turned his head, his lips grazing her forehead.

“How much I don’t know about you,” she said.

The corner of his mouth lifted. He chose not to notice a pang of longing in his chest. “You know everything, Claire.” His voice dropped. “You know how I take my coffee.”

“Black.” There was a smile in her voice, zipping along his skin. A comfortable familiarity.

“What my favorite tv show is,” he teased.

“Don’t get me started,” she groaned, and he chuckled in response.

“You know why I do what I do. That’s about it, really.” She looked up, her eyes finding his in the darkness. No one had ever trusted him this much, and the weight of it was both anchoring and crushing him. “You can know everything _about_ someone and yet not know _them_ at all. You know _me_ , Claire.”

His fingers ran down her cheek as their lips met and his hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer, a quiet growl forming in the back of his throat.

“We shouldn’t…” Claire protested half-heatedly.

Owes let out a short laugh, soft and low. It reverberated through her, holding her like a tether. Another kiss. “I need you,” against her mouth.

Well, it wasn’t the first time she threw caution to the wind.

\---

Even though Jurassic World was Simon Masrani’s “baby” and his promise to John Hammond to keep his dream alive, it was up to Claire to contact the previous visitors of the island and ask them if they would like to participate in the opening ceremony and witness the cutting of the proverbial red ribbon.

Predictably, Lex Murphy laughed at the very idea and told Claire exactly where to shove this invitation. Well, not exactly like that, but the message was clear enough. Tim Murphy was actually polite about the whole thing, but he declined the offer as well, claiming he’d had enough of this island, and even though at some point he supported his grandfather’s wild dreams – certainly more than his sister – he still regarded the revival of the park as a mistake. A big one, at that.

Ian Malcolm’s reaction was not a surprise, either – he’d already expressed his opinion, _in detail_ , on one talk show or the other long before Claire broke through to him, his final answer coming down to _Over my dead body_.

Alan Grant was the only one of them who actually listened to her prepared and rehearsed speech until the end. Granted, his answer was still a solid no, and his opinion of the idea mirrored everyone else’s, but of them all, he was the only one taken with the dinosaurs enough to wish her good luck, and not in a cynical way, too.

It was no surprise, perhaps, that he kept an eye on the park, following its progress – not out of spite or in hopes of saying _I told you so_ one day, but because he was genuinely curious, albeit from a safe distance. Or that he kept tabs on Owen, for that matter. Come to think of it, they weren’t that much different from one another.

When Claire mentioned this to Owen – the whole _Let’s invite the people who barely got out of here alive for another round_ fiasco and Grant’s continued paleontological research, which was deemed odd in certain circles, much like Owen’s attempt to fix what had gone wrong at the park, he told her that perhaps they were alike because they were both broken in the same way.

“Glad to see you in good health, Mr. Grady,” Grant said when the tow of them met him for lunch the next day at the restaurant of the hotel he was staying in, offering his hand to Owen, and added to answer a silent question, “Ms. Dearing caught me up on your… adventures.”

Owen snorted and gave Claire a surprised look. “Is that what we call it now?” Explaining to the other man, “Because usually it’s refereed to as idiocy.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Dr. Grant noted as the three of them got seated.

It was the second time Claire met him in person – the first being at a science conference which she attended with Simon Masrani a few year ago, before he’d even started to entertain the idea of making his own new kind of dinosaur. It was Dr. Grant’s ever-wry smile and inquisitive blue eyes that made her like him instantly, his sharp mind and lack of bitterness she half-anticipated; but it was his ability to look past everything bad that had happened to him and still be fascinated with the world that didn’t want him to be a part of it that won her respect.

“Thank you for coming all the way here,” Claire said after the waiter collected their drink orders and left the food menus. “I know it’s not an ideal situation for you.”

He considered her words for a moment, then nodded, his lips curved into that trademark half-smirk of his. “As long as there’s a couple hundred miles between me and _them,_ I’m good.” He let a dramatic pause hang between them for a moment. “I must admit you got me curious.” He linked his hands together, looked from Claire to Owen and back to Claire. “What is it exactly that you think I can help you with?”

Claire cleared her throat, switching into a business mode.

“With John Hammond being dead and Dr. Wu having, well, undefined alliances, you’re the closest thing we have to an expert that has at least some understanding of what the initial experiments were about,” she explained. “I was hoping maybe you could tell us what it was like back then. What the animals were like. If Hammond mentioned anything about any problems, any… hiccups, so to speak.”

“If you mean the health issues we’ve discussed on the phone, no. John Hammond never mentioned anything of that kind to me. I don’t think he would have.” They all fell silent when their drinks arrived. “See, I wasn’t a fan of the idea in spite of how fascinating it was. His project was bound to fall apart sooner or later. He wouldn’t have confided in me because no one likes hearing _Well, what did you expect?_ ”

“What about InGen?” Owen leaned closer to Grant, propping his elbows on the table.

Alan took a sip of his drink. “InGen was founded by John Hammond, but it was sponsored by the military. Still is, as far as I’m aware.” He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the white tablecloth. “And if I’m not mistaken, they always wanted to be a part of the process, not just the recipients of the end product.”

“Hence, Wu’s involvement.” Owen muttered under his breath.

Alan shrugged. “Dr. Wu is a hired person, always has been. What he did with a hybrid was a step too far,” he offered Claire a somewhat sympathetic look, which she guessed was personal, considering their more or less pleasant professional interaction. “I don’t approve of his ethics, or lack thereof, but let’s be real. If it wasn’t him, it would’ve been someone else. There’s no shortage of ambitions people in this world who’d build you a Godzilla for the right amount of money.”

“Now, that’s reassuring,” Claire sighed. “I was hoping you could have a look at the medical reports we collected on the sick animals, help us see if there’s anything we can do to prevent the spread of … whatever it is.”

“Absolutely,” he nodded.

“I’ll have them sent to you,” she nodded, relieved.

“Can I ask you something, Ms. Dearing?”

“Claire, please.”

“Claire. Why are you still here? I mean, the incident at the park must have hit you hard. I do remember your enthusiasm about this project.” A pause. “Not to mention the press, the scandal. How come you’re still trying to salvage it, even after everything that happened?”

“I’m not trying to salvage anything, Dr. Grant. Far from it, actually.” Frankly, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself, but her voice didn’t waver. “The last thing this world needs is another Jurassic World. But, as you said, there’s no shortage of ambitious people in this world who’d do anything for money. If it’s not me, it could be someone worse.”

For a moment, Alan studied her, making Claire feel like he was trying to see through her, and so she held his gaze steadily and with as much confidence as she could summon until he nodded.

Her phone started to ring. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” Claire said after checking the caller ID and pushed her chair back. “Lowery?”

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Grant,” Owen turned to Alan when she was gone.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“In this situation, it’s the thought that counts,” Owen joked rather grimly.

“Have you thought of my offer yet, Mr. Grady?” Alan asked him after the waiter left their bill on the table and walked away.

Owen glanced toward the lobby where Claire stood in a corner by the palm tree, her face unreadable from there the men were sitting. “Still thinking.”

Alan followed his gaze, nodded knowingly, a wistful smile crossing his face, softening his features. “I see. A word of advice from someone who, well, made a wrong turn in a similar situation?”

Owen nodded, “Shoot.” He tilted his head to his shoulder, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “Is this about Ellie Sattler?”

Alan let out a rueful half-laugh, “I lost my Ellie, Mr. Grady. Make sure you don’t lose yours.” He cleared his throat, added some cheer to his smile. “My offer has no expiration date. The job is yours whenever, but do me a favor – make sure you don’t regret your decision, whatever it might be.”

“Thanks. I do appreciate it, Dr. Grant. Really. I just…” Owen ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. “I need to finish something first.”

“Let’s do it, then.” Alan stood up. “Shall we?”

\---

“Slow down, Lowery,” Claire said urgently, struggling but failing to make sense of the hurried words falling out of his mouth. “I can’t understand you.”

She tried to block out the noise of the lobby, of the people talking around her, the AC units rumbling softly, the phones ringing, the cars honking outside. It wasn’t just that, however. It was a buzz of panic in her own ears that was making it hard to concentrate.

“ _ACU_ ,” Lowery said.

“What did they do?”

“ _They didn’t do anything, Claire. They found something_.” He made a dramatic pause, and Claire wished she were there to get him to spit it out already. “ _This guy Owen’s working with, Barry, he said they found something in the forest. A footprint that doesn’t belong to any of the island species_.”

Claire frowned. “That’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” Owen asked, appearing by her side with Alan in tow.

“ _You know it’s not unlikely_ ,” Lowery noted.

“Has anyone seen anything _specific_?” She demanded, her mind racing a mile per hour, itching to know more.

“Claire, what’s going on?”

“ _No_.” Lowery hesitated. “ _We haven’t told anything to Harris, either. Not after he wanted to set the whole island on fire when a few animals got sick_.” He lowered his voice. “ _But we have to, Claire. He’s in charge of the security and this, you know, is a security matter_.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, having to remind herself to keep breathing. “Don’t do anything. We’re coming back.”

She hung up and quickly caught Owen and Alan up on the conversation, the men’s faces growing darker with every second, and by the time she was finished, Owen’s hands were balled into fists.

“Son of a…” he muttered through his teeth.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still can't believe I broke my rule about not using ILY in my stories [insert facepalm here]. You see what they are doing to me?! On the bright side - ha! - EVERYTHING is going to go wrong in the next chapter, so... 
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys, and please comment :) I really appreciate your feedback!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks for your lovely comments and your patience, guys! I do hope you're having fun! Second - I know this story is already long and I still have some stuff planned, but we're approaching the finish line, so fear not, it won't be endless :)

_“This is the first day of my life._  
_I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you.._ _.”_  
_"First Day Of My Life" by Bright Eyes_

“I thought you said she ate the sibling,” Owen noted.

His shoulder propped against one of the ivy-covered pillars supporting the roof of a gazebo in the back patio of Alan Grant’s hotel, he watched Claire pace in circles around it, absently swatting off occasional insects milling around.

“She did, when they were several months old,” Claire explained. “We saw it on the video feed.”

“Then what the hell--”

“I don’t know, Owen. It can’t be true. I’m sure it was an animal that…” She faltered and rubbed her forehead. “It was one of the park’s animals. None of them are contained, except your raptor.”

She had asked Lowery to send her the pictures, but on the screen of her phone, they didn’t look like anything special, certainly not something to be worried about. Owen hadn’t said anything about them, and neither did Alan. But they all knew that no one on the island would start panicking for nothing, and that was disconcerting – more than she wanted to admit.

“Claire…”

“There is no other hybrid on this island,” she said firmly. “We would’ve known. The cameras would’ve caught it.”

“The Indominus could hide from the cameras,” he reminded her, and of course, he was right. He was so damn reasonable she wanted to scream because even the idea of another animal that could tear her apart in a blink of an eye made her throat close up, making the breathing problematic.

It was a familiar feeling – too familiar for her comfort, the one she had carried through that entire day in the park, permanently torn between doing what needed to be done and holing up someplace safe until the danger was taken care of by someone who wasn’t her. The very same feeling that kept her heart racing at night while she stared up at the ceiling, unable to close her eyes.

She couldn’t do it again.

Except it wasn’t true now. No way. They’d fixed it. It was over.

Something must have changed about her face because Owen’s eyes narrowed quizzically, his whole body seemingly attuned to hers, ready to sweep in and catch the pieces of her if needed. Claire shook it off and he relaxed immediately. 

“For Christ’s sake, it’s not a chameleon. It would never be able to hide all the time.” She sighed. There were too many ifs to make Lowey’s words make sense. It had to be a mistake and this whole conversation was pointless.

“How do you know?”

“There is no another Indominus in the park.” She repeated.

They both turned to Alan who watched their argument with growing interest from his spot by the railing wrapping the gazebo, his eyes darting between them. It was like following a tennis match, but far more entertaining.

“No, no. Go on,” he said when they paused.

For a moment, Claire felt a pang of guilt over dragging him into something he probably wouldn’t want to be a part of under normal circumstances, but then again, he already was a part of this one way or the other, and she might as well put dealing with the ramifications of it away for later.

“There is no Indominus because all animals that came out of the lab were accounted for,” Claire pointed out, arms folded over her chest.

“What if it was a secret one?”

“Are you seriously implying that Wu created a secret animal, raised it in his closet, and no one found out about it?” She asked, incredulous.

“It’s not impossible,” he pointed out.

“It is, actually,” she countered. “Jokes aside, to pull off something like this, he’d need funding. You, of all people, know how much it costs to feed them. And where would he have kept it?” Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “We raked the island in the past few weeks, crawling over every square inch of it. Don’t you think we would’ve noticed an extra dinosaur?”

“Not necessarily. We steered clear of the northern cliffs because of the Pteranodons, and that northeast part of the plains because the T-Rex likes to hang out there.” He shrugged and folded his arms over his chest.

“That doesn’t prove anything. It would’ve needed food. We would’ve known.”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Owen arched his eyebrows, challenging her to object, and when she didn’t, allowed his lips to stretch into a triumphant smile.

Claire sighed and turned to Alan. “Dr. Grant…”

It took him a moment to register what was going to come next.

“Oh, no. No way.” Alan raised his hands up. “I’ll be happy to read your reports, but going back? I’m sorry, Ms. Dearing, but no way in hell.”

“That’s a pretty accurate way to put it,” Owen mumbled.

Claire chewed on her lip for a few moment. “It’s not just a friend’s request, Dr. Grant. The company will reimburse you for your trouble.”

Alan let out a long breath. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go back to the island packed to the brim with dinosaurs and a potential _I-don’t-even-know-what_ running around, am I correct?”

“There’s nothing there,” Claire insisted. “Nothing we don’t know about. And I guarantee--”

“Well, that’s the thing – you can’t guarantee anything,” he interjected firmly. “Not with that place.”

He had a point.

Claire considered their options.

“I promise you it’s not the way it was 20 years ago. It’s safe…er. Much safer.” And added when she saw his hesitation, “Two days. Two days and we’ll bring you back here.” 

“And look at it that way,” Owen piped up, “You might get to see Rexy! You’re old friends, right?”

Alan stared at him for a moment, then turned to Claire. “You gave the T-Rex a pet name?”

Claire huffed with a slight exasperation. “ _I_ didn’t.”

\---

“Two days,” Alan repeated when the helicopter turned toward the landing platform over the Control building, his eyes trained on the hills rolling beneath them. Claire followed his gaze, spotting two Apatosauruses in the valley below.

Earlier, she called Lowery again to get the status report and ask for a ride back to the island. Owen gave her a stink-eye for opting for a chopper, still averse to the idea of air travel after his unfortunate adventures, but the motorboat would have taken nearly twice as long, and they were in no position to waste any more time. Especially if there was a risk of starting a wave of panic among the people.

“And not a minute longer,” she promised Alan, her fingers flexing reassuringly around Owen’s hand lying on the armrest between their seats while she tried to pretend she couldn’t hear his shortened breath as he stared intensely out of the window. “Unless you choose to stay.”

The helicopter landed with a dull thud, shuddering at the impact.

Alan gave her a wry smile. “Not a chance.”

Eager to get out of the ‘death can’, Owen climbed out first and offered his hand first to Claire and then to Alan before diving into the cabin again to pull out their bag and Grant’s suitcase, nodding to the man who came up to meet them to take their baggage downstairs.  

Shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, Alan swept the park with a long, troubled glance, his eyebrows pulled together and his lips pursed into a tight line.

“It’s changed,” he said when Claire paused beside him, wondering what he was seeing that she wasn’t.

“I told you it’s not the same as you knew it,” she noted.

He turned to her, his expression odd. “I’m not sure yet if it changed for the best,” he mused, but then the shadow of foreboding was gone, and he offered her a genuine smile. “Lead the way!”

They heard the voices while still in the elevator, loud and demanding. And when the doors slid open, Harris was there with two of his men, standing before Barry and another guy Claire saw before but never met officially. Harris was waving a handful of printouts in front of Barry’s face, his eyes narrowed and his jaw squared. Barry said something quietly, but briskly, his whole stance unyielding.

They all fell silent when she, Owen, and Alan stepped into the Control Room.

From behind them, Lowery stared at their guest, his jaw hanging open and his eyes wide as saucers. She might have brought an honest to God Bigfoot with her, and he probably wouldn’t have been more astounded. 

“What’s going on?” Claire asked.

Harris turned to her with a smirk. “Looks who’s back.” His gaze traveled past her and fixed on Owen. “How was the trip?”

“Terrific,” Owen assured him. “Best IVs I’ve ever had. I’d recommend them to a friend.”

Harris ignored his quips and walked over to Claire, shoving the printouts at her. “What does this look like to you, Ms. Dearing?”

She took the papers from him. They were grayish photographs of the dinosaur footprints. Two of them – left and right – taken from several different angles, with their measurements written in the margins. Some of them were undoubtedly the same ones she’d already had on her phone.

“My guess would be a raptor,” Claire responded without hesitation. Truth be told, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell the raptor’s footprints from the ones of just about any other animal on the island, but judging by the size indicated on the pictures and the footprints she’d seen at Blue’s paddock, she went with her best guess.  

“No, what you’re seeing is insubordination,” Harris huffed.

She looked at the pictures again before it registered with her that what he was saying wasn’t a name of the species.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” Claire frowned.

“See the timestamp here? These photos were taken fourteen hours ago.” His finger pointed at the lower right-hand corner. “I don’t know where you were for the past 4 days and, quite frankly, I don’t care. But you don’t look surprised by any of this, whereas I was only informed about this--” he checked his watch, “--15 minutes ago.” He glared at Barry, and turned back to Claire again. “This is insubordination.”

She returned the printouts back to him. “Those are the pictures of the dinosaur’s footprints in the forest, Mr. Harris. Admittedly, anywhere else in the world they would be a big deal, but on this island they’re hardly sensational.”

His lips curved into a grimace. “This is more than that and you know it, Ms. Dearing. What I don’t appreciate is my men going over my head and running to you with the matters that don’t concern you.”

She leveled him with her gaze. “Everything about this park concerns me.”

He jabbed a finger at her. “Stick to your progress reports and stay the hell out of my way. Are we clear?”

“Watch it, Harris.” Owen warned him in that low, lazy voice Claire knew meant trouble.

“Shut up, Grady,” he said flatly, dismissively. “Just because you’re fucking the biggest stuck-up bitch on this side of the equator doesn’t mean--”

He didn’t get to finish his thought because the next moment Owen’s fist connected with his jaw, and he staggered backwards with an involuntary _Ow_ , his hand reaching for his face, his eyes wide with shock.

Claire gasped. Lowery muttered _Ouch_. No one else moved or so much as breathed, too dumbfounded by the scene that unfolded before their eyes in a blink of an eye. For a few moment, the only sounds breaking the heavy silence were the gently hum of the equipment and the breathing of the 10 people currently present in the room.

“I said watch it,” Owen repeated quietly, dangerously.

“Owen, don’t,” Claire grabbed his arm and pulled him back as Harris straightened up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, a broad red spot spreading over the left side of his face.

“You’re so fired, Grady,” he muttered.

“No, I’m not.” Owen snickered. “And you know why? Because you have no idea what you’re doing here.” His fingers were still flexing, curling into his palms and relaxing only to ball into fists again. “You have a problem with me? Man up and deal with _me_.”

On that, he wiggled out of Claire’s grasp and walked away without looking back, and it was only then that everyone remembered to snap out of it.  

She wanted to follow him, but noticed Barry shake his head out of the corner of her eye and focused on Harris instead, nearly shaking with the sudden fury that washed over her. “I am not going to tolerate this kind of attitude, Mr. Harris,” she said to him icily.

“It wasn’t me who started swignin’.” He spat angrily.

“If it wasn’t Owen, it would’ve been me.”

Still rubbing his sore jaw, he stared her down, but didn’t respond.

“Well, this was interesting,” Alan spoke when everyone remain quiet for another half a minute.

Harris looked at him, as if only now noticing a stranger among them. His eyes narrowed. “Who are you, again?”

\---

An hour later, Claire found Owen sitting on the fence surrounding what used to be a petting zoo but what looked mostly like a giant mud puddle after the last night’s rain. The temperature had dropped as well, stealing away the earlier warmth, and the wind was heavy with moisture and chilly on her skin. It would probably rain again later tonight, she thought.

“There you are,” she said, making her way toward him from where she’d left her car. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Owen tossed a spear of grass he’d been twisting in his fingers aside and offered her a crooked grimace of a smile. “It’s a nice view.” He jerked his chin at the Innovation Center across the lawn, the sun hanging just below the level of its pointy roof making it look like a Christmas tree with a lit up star on the top of it. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself.”

“Pot, meet kettle.” She huffed, stopping before him. “I thought you went to the paddock.”

“I did.” He met her gaze. “But the feeding was over and Blue was hiding somewhere.” Owen rubbed his eyes, and it struck her how tired he looked, his weariness a bit too prominent for her liking. Belatedly, Claire remembered that he’d been released from the hospital not 24 hours ago.

“You have got to start charging your phone at least occasionally,” she accused him. “I was worried.”

His face softened, the tension lines around his mouth smoothing out. “Sorry,” he breathed out. “I had to get out of there, or I’d…” he shook his head, dropped his gaze. “I don’t know.”

She took his hand in both of hers, running her thumbs over his bruised knuckles.

“Am I in trouble?” Owen asked.

“No.”

“Are you?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Is anyone?”

A corner of her mouth lifted, curling into a grin. “Dr. Grant thinks it was a mistake to come here and that we’re all going to die.”

“All is right in the world then.” He let out a short laugh. “Where’s he?”

“I took him to the hotel and explained how our buddy system works – no wandering around alone and unarmed,” she replied. “And speaking of which…”

“I’m armed,” he pointed to the rifle propped against the fence by his side, but her reproach did not falter. Yet, she didn’t push.

“Look, Harris chose a bad way to address this issue, but he was not wrong about the whole thing. What if it wasn’t nothing? He had to have been informed immediately.” Owen’s brows drew together, and she added before he spoke, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate Lowery’s enthusiasm and obsession with conspiracy theories, but in this situation, it was unprofessional.”

He bristled momentarily. “I don’t give a shit about Harris’s wounded ego, Claire. He had no business talking to you that way just to get back at me.”

She stepped closer, standing between his parted knees, and trailed her hands along his thighs, locking them behind his back as she pressed her forehead to his collarbone with a sigh. Owen’s arms closed around her immediately and he dipped his head to brush a kiss to her hair, his whole body enveloping hers.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that crap,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” Claire told him softly.

“No, it’s not,” Owen said. “First of all, he’s an ass. And second of all, what he said is not true.” He stroked her hair. “You’re the kindest, bravest, the most generous person I’ve ever met, and I’m not gonna let some opinionate dick tell you otherwise.” He chuckled. “And it was so nice to knock him off his high horse for once.”

“If there was an actual horse, it’d kick you back,” she snorted.

They stayed quiet for a while, listening to the sounds of the island – never too prominent, but always there.

In the time she’d stayed with Karen and the boys, the one thing that Claire noticed was a near complete silence of their sleepy neighborhood. Lying awake in bed in the middle of the night, she could hear her own heartbeat it was so still. The park was another thing – there were always the cries of the animals, the soft lapping of the waves, the gentle rustle of the trees. She never knew how used she’d grown to these sounds until they were gone and she found herself suspended in a sensory vacuum.

“I used to come here sometimes, you know,” Owen said after a few minutes. “The babies… they’re that adorable kind of awkward until they grow into their bodies and long necks and frills.” Absently, he started tracing his fingers along the line of exposed skin between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. “I had to put down three of them in the weeks before you came. They were too sick or too injured to survive. Gets you thinking…”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Claire said, attempting to lighten up the mood, her throat thick.

“I know it’s a natural order of things and it’s how it had been for millions of years before the humanity started majorly fucking up everything, and they’re wild animals… But I don’t know what would happen to them if InGen leaves them to fend for themselves. They will run out of food eventually. Or the T-Rex will slaughter ‘em all until she’s the only one left on the island.”

She sighed and buried her face in his chest, snagging the precious warmth radiating off of him. “I care about them, too, Owen. I really do. But I don’t know how to fix that.”

“S’okay,” he breathed out.

Claire pulled away and stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him.  “Let’s go back, okay?”

\---

“Ouch!” Owen glowered at her while she was changing his bandage.

Perched on the tall stool by the kitchen counter in her suite, he regarded her grimly.

“You ripped your cut open, Owen,” she returned the glare, stern and displeased. “One day! One day out of the hospital and we’re dealing with this again.”

He glanced down with a grimace and mumbled, “Stupid Harris and his stupid face.”

Claire pursed her lips together. “Okay, you know what? That’s it. We’re going back. Now!”

“Don’t be silly,” he caught her hand and pulled her toward him when she started to move away. “It didn’t really open, okay?” He waited for a heartbeat, then another, until the crease between her brows disappeared. “Hey, I promised you, right? No stupid stuff. I’m fine, Claire.”

She swallowed, eyeing him uncertainly, then shook her head. “Don’t move for two minutes, will you? Because if you ask me to stick needles in you again, I swear to God…”

“The next time, I’ll let you fend for yourself and just stay back and watch you rip the world apart,” he promised.

“I can hurt you in so many ways right now,” she grumbled.

“What happened to not wanting me dead?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Can I sic you on Harris the next time you’re like this?” He asked curiously.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He allowed her to finish her manipulations with the bandages and a nasty smelling something the hospital staff insisted on using, feeling guilty over dragging her into all of this again, and yet somewhat smugly proud of throwing a hook good enough to make his skin rip open. He hoped Harris’s face hurt as much. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” he lifted her chin until their eyes met, and the deep worry clouding her expression started to fade away.  

“Of course.” Claire let out a long breath and snapped the first aid kit shut to store it away. “Although if you don’t stop hurting yourself, I might have to tie you up or something.”

His face lit up. “Oh, kinky! I like that.”

Someone rapped their knuckles on the door.

“It’s open,” she called out, rolling the sleeve of Owen’s tee over the fresh bandage.

Barry poked his head in, his eyes darting cautiously between them. “You two are not doing anything weird, are you?”

“You wish!” Owen snorted, earning the _look_ from Claire who found an ice pack in the freezer and tossed it to him over the counter – for his hand, which thankfully hadn’t been hurt too bad, but that was bound to sport a bruise for a while if he didn’t take care of it.

Barry pushed the door open and stepped inside, followed closely by Alan.

“Dr. Grant,” she said, surprised.

“Call me Alan, please.” He cleared his throat. “Hope you don’t mind my dropping in like this.”  

“No, of course not. Is everything okay?”

Alan and Barry exchanged a quick look. “Sure. I just wanted to—those photos. I noticed something was wrong about them and it took me a while to figure out what.”

Claire’s phone started to vibrate on the counter. “Excuse me, I--”

“I’ll get it!” Owen grabbed it before she could. “Hey, Karen! How’s it going?”

“Owen, give it to me,” Claire demanded, but he swiveled on his stool, turning his back to her.

“Fine, thanks… It was just a scratch, but you know Claire… Uh-huh, exactly...” He swiveled again when she tried to take the phone from him. “Okay, but imagine living with her... Oh, right. You know what it’s like...” He paused, listening, and Claire felt her cheek heat up. “Well, it’s not like that. Her flat iron still lives in that faceless hotel room of hers… That’s what I said!”

“I mean it, give me my phone,” she hissed, trying to grab a hold of it, but it appeared to be futile.

“Oh, no. She’s right here, but we have company so I’ve taken it upon myself to step up as her assistant.” Without any regard for Alan and Barry, he flashed a megawatt beaming smile at Claire.

“You’re the worst assistant and you’re so fired!” She promised him fiercely, then turned to their guests who took their seats on the couch. “I’m sorry, this is…” She glared at Owen who wandered off into her bedroom, still fending off the question attack from her sister, and quite successfully, too. “I’m gonna kill him later.”

Chuckling, Barry shook his head. “It’s okay, Claire.”

“This is probably not what you expected,” she said to Alan apologetically.

“It’s entertaining,” he assured her. Then his smile dropped, replaced by a slight frown. “So about the pictures--”

“What about them?” Owen asked, returning to the living room. He walked up to where Claire was standing near the counter, leaning against it with her arms folded over her chest, and placed her phone down on the stone countertop by her elbow.

“Everything okay?” She asked him.

He nodded, his hand finding its way to the small of her back for a moment, before sliding habitually around her waist. “She’ll call you back.”

“You’re still not off the hook,” she warned him, earning a cheeky grin in response. “So what about the photos?” She asked Alan.

He glanced at Barry again – a conspiratorial look between two people who clearly knew something that everyone else didn’t. Claire tensed, not liking the sight of it.

“The footprint we found in the jungle is not the raptor’s. In fact, it doesn’t belong to any of the species on the island,” Barry said. “At first I thought so because we haven’t registered the trackers in that area for a while, but there’s more to it.”

“There’s a distinct fourth toe,” Alan added in that dubious, uncertain tone that made it sound like he couldn’t believe what he was saying, either.

“And none of the biped species living on the island have four toes.” Barry finished. “Not that kind that would show when they walk.”

A cold touch of panic trickled down Claire’s spine. Beside her, Owen tensed, his breathing catching. “Then what the hell is it?” He spoke the words she didn’t dare to even begin to contemplate.

\---

After that, the conversation continued to run in circles for a while. There was no proof of anything, no answers to why and how and, most importantly, what. The problem was that aside from the photos, there was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary going on. None of the patrol teams noticed anything abnormal in the forest, and none of the cameras caught any suspicious acidity either.

Between the four of them, Barry and Owen chose to believe their eyes, Claire decided to stick to the common sense – that nothing could _appear_ on the island out of nowhere – and Alan took the neutral ground, needing more convincing to sway to one side or the other.

Later, when Alan and Barry retreated to their respective rooms for the night, Claire found herself on the couch, going through her emails after a quick call to Karen to reassure her sister that no one was dead and trying hard not to think about this new development, period.

Owen grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and washed down his daily dose of antibiotics with it. Afterwards, he flopped onto the couch beside her, his head in her lap and a cushion shoved underneath it, making Claire grin.

She put away her phone and ran her hand through his hair. “You okay with staying here tonight?”

He looked up at her, studied her face hovering over him for a moment or two. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, it’s not as… rustic as your bungalow,” Claire reminded him, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “The shower actually has a decent pressure.”

Owen caught had hand and kiss her palm. “I think I’ll manage.”  

“You don’t actually think there’s something out there, do you?” Claire asked, unable not to.

His face fell, the smile gone momentarily. “You saw the photos, heard what Grant said.” Her hand still clasped in his, he started tracing absently his thumb over her palm. “And Barry was there, not some green ACU recruit who’s never been to this place before.”

“I just don’t understand…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Are you sure the I-Rex ate her sibling?”

“There’s the footage. I can pull it out for you if you want, but I assure you, it’s pretty straightforward. And quite sickening.” She grimaced at the memory, and added, “Besides, if she didn’t eat the sibling and it just… escaped, we’d know. There’s no way an animal of that size and hostility could stay undetected on the island hosting 20,000 people at all times.”

To that, Owen had no response. “Well, then we’re fresh out of ideas,” he told her. “Except… I might have one.”

“Yes?” She tilted her head to her shoulder, curious.

“How about we forget about this for tonight,” he slipped his hand around her neck, pulling her down until their lips were just barely apart, “and go check how’s that pressure in your shower doing?”

\---

In the end, Claire decided to forego the shower in favor of a jacuzzi.

_“Is this a pool?” Owen had asked the first time he saw it a few weeks ago. “Why do you have a pool in your hotel room?”_

_“It’s an apartment,” she huffed._

_“It might be taking up an entire floor, but it’s still a hotel room,” he snorted._

Right now, however, he didn’t care all that much about the semantics. It was easier to keep his bandage from getting wet when they were in the tub. But the best thing was that it was quite incredible how sensual foamy sponges and lips could be, combined with hot water and… _‘Are those bubbles?!’_

“You know, I could get used to this,” Owen hummed against her skin as Claire sat between his knees, her back resting against his chest. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy twist on the top of her head giving all the access he needed to the delicate curve of her neck, although it was the curling wisps that escaped her ‘do’ that were currently driving his mind over the cliff.

“Taking baths?” Claire asked as his ran his hands along her arms, leaving patches of foam on her skin.

“You,” he pressed a kiss to a sensitive spot behind her ear as his palms trailed down her sides and around her waist.

She tilted her head, meeting his mouth with hers, her hand slipping around his neck. “That’s the idea.”

His skin was slick and wet when she managed to turn around, making it almost impossible to hold onto him, which Claire didn’t mind because it required holding on harder, her fingers digging into his flesh, scrambling to wrap her arms around her.

“Got any other good ideas?” Owen asked, punctuating the words with kisses as he trailed his lips down her neck, moving slowly toward her chest, tickling her skin with his breath.

“I don’t know.” She tugged him toward her, “Let me run them by you, and then you’ll tell me.” Legs wound around his waist, she pulled him closer, closer…

“Jesus, Claire,” he grunted into her clavicle, his hips rocking against hers on their own volition, filling her, catching her soft whimper of acceptance with his mouth.

“Need you,” she murmured, her mind hazed.

Palms pressed to his cheeks and her breath hitched in her throat, she pressed her mouth to his, needing him, this, now, the touch of her fingers encouraging and inviting until he found the rhythm – slow, almost lazy, savoring, breathless. His hands slid down her back, along her sides, their bodies rising and falling in the warm water. Her stomach hot and tight, Claire nuzzled his cheek, her eyes dropping shut, her awareness dimming, slipping into the only universe that mattered.

Owen’s hands clutched her hips, palms sliding along her legs, and she arched her back, framed his thighs with hers to the low, guttural sound that broke out of his chest. His arms caught her, lips pressing to whatever skin he could reach, devouring, claiming, falling into the sweet oblivion. The touch of her hands, the sweet, heavy feel of her body melting in him was making his nerves feel raw and exposed, his whole being sparkling alive to the sound of Claire’ voice whispering his name. His fingers dug into her skin, trialing over her back, her arms, the flat plain of her stomach as their breathing started growing shorter, more erratic.

One last pull, searing pleasure, and Claire was falling from the brink, only barely registering the sudden tightening of his hold on her that was making it hard to breathe and yet still wasn’t close enough, strong enough. The whisper against her neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His lips grazing her shoulder while the world swam around them, timeless and bright.

“Thank you,” Owen chuffed against her temple when she curled into him, sated and boneless.

“For what?” She mustered almost soundlessly, kissing his mouth, his jaw, waiting for the reality to slide back into place.

“For showing me that bubble baths can be fun,” he chuckled into her hair.  

The sound of her soft laughter echoed in every part of his body, his grip tightening around her, possessive and needy. One of these days, he would actually believe she was his. But today, it was all about feeling her skin pressed to his, and the overwhelming pleasure of her presence.

Later, by the time Owen called the Control Room to tell whoever was running the night shift to alert him immediately if they caught anything on camera (because Claire was goddamn right and logical, but if the past had taught them anything it was that anything could happen) and slipped into bed, she was already curled on her side. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close and buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“Stop it,” he whispered.

“What?” She asked softly.

“I can hear you think.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Hear anything interesting?”

“Mm,” Owen kissed her shoulder, near the strap of her pajama top. “That you’re crazy about me.”

“That was supposed to be George Clooney.” Claire rolled over to face him, tucking her arm under her head. “Was I not picturing him right again?”

Their legs tangled together, Owen trailed his fingertip along her face. “Nope, all me.” He studied her features in the dark – whatever he could see, and added, somewhat amazed, “It’s been a year.”

“Since when?” She asked, curious.

“Our first date,” he told her in a dramatic voice, followed by a theatrical shudder.

“First and only,” she reminded him, the corners of her mouth lifted in amusement.

“Guess I’m lucky you allow me to do all kinds of things to you after only one date,” Owen commented, practically hearing her roll her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then pecked her on the tip of her nose. “We could’ve been doing this for a year.”

Claire scoffed. “Doubt it.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Owen asked quietly, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair, brushing occasionally against her cheek. “I wanted to ask you out again, but I thought you’d tell me to fuck off.”

Her breath hitched, and she swallowed fast, wishing she could see him better. She wiggled closer to him, stretching her body along the whole length of his, her head resting on his outstretched arm. She trailed her hand down his chest, counting the scars. Stray bullets, he’d told her; a slash one on his side; several claw marks left by the raptors when they were still little and Owen had made a strategic mistake of underestimating their viciousness. “It’s like a map,” she whispered. All the pain, she thought. And those were only the visible marks. “Do _you_ want to know a secret?”

“Hm.” His agreement came out like a rumble reverberating through her body.

“I’d say yes.”

Owen stayed quiet for a few moment before asking, “How come?”

“You had two strikes. I would’ve given you another chance.”

“Two strikes, huh?”

She laughed. “For board shorts.”  

With a groan, he buried his face in a pillow. “Naturally.”

“And for taking me to Margaritaville on the first date. Seriously, Owen.”

“You live and learn,” he noted philosophically. “It’ll never go away, will it?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Claire murmured, brushing a kiss to a small scar just below his collarbone as his heart thumped strongly and steadily beneath her palm.

He tickled her foot with his toes, and then tipped her chin up, pressing his lips to hers again, muting her giggle. “You need to sleep, okay? I know it’s tough, but you need to rest.”

“Don’t go,” she breathed out.

“Not going anywhere,” he promised and pulled her closer into him, delighted by the weight and warmth of her body against his, the scent of her skin, the way she fit against him in that perfect way that made Owen wonder how he even managed to make it to the age of 38 without her, without this incredible completeness.

He woke up a few hours later after a dream he couldn’t remember, save for the fact that it felt like a thick, heavy blanket that threatened to suffocate him, to Claire crying in her sleep. It wasn’t the sound of it that alerted him so much as the changed pattern of her breathing.

“Claire?” Owen called her, touching her shoulder. “Claire, baby…”

Without waking up, she snuggled closer to him, tucking her face into his chest as Owen smoothed down her hair, whispering quietly to her – the words not as important as the soothing tone of his voice. It wasn’t the first time it happened, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. She usually refused to talk about it in the morning, and he never pushed, always feeling shitty about not being able to help her, but also somewhat scared to hear what demons were haunting her.

The weather had changed again, the air suddenly heavy and thick with the smell of the ocean and intoxicating scent of tropical flowers. Outside the open window, something cried out in the night, the sound carrying for miles in the still air.

Claire settled down eventually, but he stayed awake for another hour, wondering how could he possibly fix them both.

\---

Claire spent half of the next day poring over the vet reports with Alan as he went through each of them, pointing out to her the discrepancies in the generic construct between the park’s animals and the actual dinosaurs and explaining why their original genome might have been changed. His best guess was that, in most cases, Wu simply didn’t have the full chain they needed for to create the original species, although Alan speculated that some of the modifications could have been done to make the animals more susceptible to the world they hadn’t been a part of for millions of years.

He explained to her that the extra toe could have appeared as a result of genetic manipulations, but the hiccup with this theory was that every animal had a personal file that contained their specifications and health history, and none of them had this particular type of mutation. Wu was meticulous – he would have never missed anything of that kind.

In the meantime, ACU was finally taking care of the T-Rex problem, as in – herding her back into her cage. The decision regarding the fate of the island had not been made yet, and it bothered Claire more than she was willing to admit, but Harris decided that keeping the most dangerous of the species locked up until then was the safest option for the rest of the team, and she didn’t say anything. If they were going to search the whole island top to bottom, it made sense to have her locked up.

Owen was with them in the beginning, but once the most tedious and dangerous part of ‘Lure Rexy out of her hiding’ was over, he dropped by to pick up her and Alan and take them – well, mostly Dr. Grant – to the raptors’ enclosure for a tour.

“This is incredible,” Alan shook his head in amazement, watching Blue from the catwalk above the paddock.

“They’re crazy smart,” Owen agreed. “And very intelligent.”

“How old is she now?”

“Around 4. There used to be four of them, and they behaved better. But after everything… ” He trailed off with a small shrug.

Blue snapped at them, her eyes narrowed and gleaming predatorily.

“She doesn’t like me much,” Claire said to Alan, noticing that the raptor’s attention was primarily focused on her.

Owen chuckled. “Yeah, as my mate, Claire threatens Blue’s position in the pack. Who’d like that?”

She turned to him, her mouth dropping open in astonishment. “Excuse me, as your _what_?”

“Biologically speaking,” he pointed out without batting an eyelash.

“Well, you can tell her I have no interest in jumping through the hoops on command, thank you very much. Her place in the _pack_ is secure.”

Laughing, he ruffled her hair, and Claire glowered at him, swatting his hand away.

Blue growled.

Alan smirked. “She’s a jealous one alright.” He looked around, studying the walls and the catwalk running around the perimeter of the cage, the cameras around the paddock, the harnesses. “I can’t believe how far you’ve come with this, Owen. This is… Well, it’s insane, but in a brilliant way.”

“We were supposed to study their behavior and their ability to learn and follow the commands, not turn them into the circus monkeys. It all went to hell only when InGen decided that the circus part was more important.”

“Circus pays more science.” Alan noted. “When hasn’t it?”

A radio on Owen’s belt coughed out some static before Barry’s voice broke through, “ _Owen_?”

“Hey, what’s up?” Owen responded.

“ _She’s in, we got her_.”

“Awesome, man! We’re gonna wrap it up here--”

He was cut off by the roar of the helicopter that appeared from behind the trees, growing louder with every passing moment.  

“…the hell?” Owen muttered as the three of them looked up. “See ya later,” he said into the radio and disconnected without waiting for Barry’s response.

“ACU?” Claire asked uncertainly.

“Not our chopper,” he said, frowning. “We have visitors.”

“Who would…” She started, reaching for her phone, but just then it began to chirp, Lowery’s caller ID blinking on the screen.

“ _The cavalry is here_ ,” Lowery said the moment the picked up.

“The what?”

“ _Um… the press visit that your boss arranged_?” It came out as a question.

“Caldwell sent the _press_ here?!” She repeated, incredulous, and pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling like she’d falled into some kind of a rabbit hole and ended up in the world where nothing was making any sense.

“ _You didn’t know_?” Lowery asker after a short hesitation.

“How do _you_ know?” Claire inquired, trying to ignore the intensity of Owen’s gaze that kept burning a hole right through her.

“ _Harris is here. He just got a call and is shitting bricks over their clearance. Apparently, they have none_.”

“Of course they have none. Half of Masrani Global has none.” She rubbed bridge of her nose, wishing she could turn the damn chopper off.

On his end of the line, Lowery cleared his throat. “ _That’s not why I am calling actually_.”

“What, are there any other good news?” At this point, they might as well be sinking under the water, and she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that.

“ _Define good_.”

“Lowery.”

“ _Right, sorry_.” He typed something – she could hear his fingers hit the keys in a rapid succession. “ _We found it._ ”

“Found what?”

“ _That… thing. The animal you said couldn’t be here_.”

Claire froze. “You found it?”

“ _Caught it on camera. I think you should come see it_.”

She met Owen’s eyes, and if his expression reflected what she was feeling in any way – well, they were screwed.

“We’ll be right there.”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you're enjoying this fic so far! There're 2-3 more chapters left, and then we'll be done :)
> 
> Please comment, your feedback is love - I live for your comments! :D Thanks!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is still on hiatus, sort of, but I've had this chapter finished for a while now, so even though I'm sure that posting an update is a good idea, we'll see how it'll go! 
> 
> PS I'm obsessed with Sleeping At Last and their rendition of "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)"

_"But I would walk 500 miles_  
_And I would walk 500 more_  
_Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles_  
_To fall down at your door..."_  
_Sleeping At Last –  I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)_

Alan insisted on going with them to the Control Room despite Claire’s suggestion to drop him off at the hotel. He was curious now, and she couldn’t blame him for it. She would be as well, if only Lowery’s words weren’t ringing in her head, making her feel like she was running in circles in some kind of a never-ending nightmare.

She was tempted to join ACU and the handlers in the Control Room, but the press seemed like a far more important issue to deal with. She tried to reach Caldwell, but his phone kept going straight to voicemail, and his assistant told her that his schedule was packed, but that she would pass the message. Which basically meant that Claire wouldn’t hear from him any time soon. She asked Owen to take her to the hotel, promising to take her own car to catch up with them later.

“Take care,” he mouthed soundlessly before she slipped out of the car.

“Behave,” she told him with a fleeting smile and squeezed her his hand briefly.

In the lobby, she found a tall woman in her late twenties lounging on the couch. Tight black pants, leather jacket, high-heeled boots. The only thing missing was a teacup poodle in a fancy carry-on. Claire tried to remember if she’d seen her before – it was unlikely that someone who wasn’t already deep in the Jurassic World scandal would be sent to the island. Which meant she probably had a heap of Claire’s dirty underwear in her pocket, figuratively speaking.

Beside the woman sat a stocky man in his mid-thirties wearing a baseball cap backwards. And between them were piled up several bags with equipment and a couple of small, practical suitcases with their personal possessions.

Both of them were glued to their phones, ignoring one another and two InGen guys hanging out nearby – undoubtedly keeping an eye on the newcomers.

At the sound of Claire’s footsteps, the woman whipped her head around and then leaped up from her seat, starting toward her.

“Ms. Dearing? My name is Katherine Marshall. I’m with--”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Claire interrupted her.

Katherine Marshall. The name bounced around in her head, but left no trace of recognition. She looked familiar, but she could’ve been on one of the news teams camping outside of Masrani Global for weeks, hungry for the snippets of information or maybe she was present at the press-conferences they held to sate the panic and wild speculations.

“Frank Caldwell assured me--” Katherine started again.

“I’m sure Mr. Caldwell had the best intentions in mind, but he…” _Didn’t bother to discuss it with me_ , Claire wanted to say, but even in her mind it sounded ridiculous and awfully unprofessional. She plastered a polite smile on her face. “I don’t think he fully understands how everything works here.” She gave Katherine a long, measured look. “I am not authorized to disclose any information you don’t already have. You’re welcome to take a couple of pictures of the resort, but then you will have to leave.”

“You said this place was safe, Ms. Dearing. During the press call last week.”

“And it is,” Claire confirmed. “For the armed professionals.”

To that, Katherine didn’t have anything to say. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I talked to the people,” she offered.

“I wouldn’t,” Claire agreed easily. “But they know they can’t talk to the media. And most of them came here from the military. They’re good at following orders.” She shrugged.

Katherine pressed her lips into a thin line for a moment. She should have known that this was going to happen, Claire mused, watching a spectrum of emotions wash over the reporter’s face. This clearly was not what she expected, and suddenly Claire was overcome with irritation. What the hell was the PR department thinking sending someone here for them to babysit?

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Katherine said at last with about as much fake enthusiasm as Claire was feeling.

Claire nodded. “You are not to leave the territory of the resort, Ms. Marshall.”

“You can’t keep us locked up here,” Katherine challenged her.

“I can’t. But are you sure you want to run around the island full of _dinosaurs_?”  

\---

Meanwhile, in the Control Room, half of the staff currently present at the park was huddled around the main screen. For once, it didn’t display the island’s map and general stats. Instead, it was showing an enlarged frozen image of the security camera feed of an animal about to dart into the cluster of tall ferns. The picture was black-and- white and grainy, but the creature on it was impossible to be mistaken for any of the dinosaurs living in Jurassic World.

It was about the size of a raptor, but more muscular, its snout a bit more square, resembling the one of a T-Rex, only smaller. Its color was indistinguishable, but it had prominent darker stripes running from its nose, along its cheeks and down its neck. Its mouth was slightly opened, revealing two rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“The hell is that?” Barry muttered, his eyebrows furrowed.

“ _How_ the hell?” Lowery corrected him in a disbelieving voice.

“Where?” Harris asked, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched tight.

“Sector 7,” Lowery reported promptly. “The guys that were nearby checked it out though, but by the time they got there it was gone.”

“Figures,” Owen said quietly.

Until this moment, he didn’t realize how much he didn’t want this to be true. Oh, he believed the ACU knew what they were talking about when they first found the footprints, but right now, all he wanted was for this thing to disappear. For everything to be over. For Claire to be here.

A wave of fear washed over him, shortening his breath, making his muscles spasm and his fingers twitch. The time they spent apart in the past few months could be counted in hours, and knowing that something unknown and potentially very dangerous, something without a tracker, was lurking out there was setting off his inner alarms, making his ears ring with panic.  

Harris checked his watch, the wheels in his head turning almost audibly.

They hadn’t said a word to each other even since Owen walked into the room, and he was fine with it.

“Call everyone in,” Harris said after a short pause to no one in particular, but all three techs passed down the message immediately, mumbling short, concise commands into their headsets. “Tell the vets to sit tight. No on leaves the compound until we find out what the fuck this is.”

“We need to get out of here,” Owen said.

“We need to comb this island and figure out what this thing is,” Harris countered flatly without looking at him. “We’ll divide the whole place into sectors tomorrow and start searching them.” On that, he straightened up and walked away, pulling his phone out in the process.

No one said anything, too surprised or dumbfounded by the situation that took a turn for the unexpected. However, only few of the men had been here before, when the real tragedy unfurled. They were the ones that didn’t have the air of excitement about them. The fact that this new creature was ten times smaller than the I-Rex didn’t seem to have any impact on their perception – it could easily be just as dangerous, and its smaller size certainly made it harder to spot on time.

“Owen,” Barry started quietly when the other men started to disperse, either stepping away from the screen, or heading for the elevator.  

“I know,” Owen breathed out, his chest tight. “It looks like Delta.”

\---

“You said she died,” Claire reminded him.

A few hours later, it was only her and Owen in the darkened Control Room, the image still up on the big screen. His eyes glued to the picture before him, he was fiddling occasionally with the controls at Lowery’s workstation, zooming it in and out as if he was trying to take it apart pixel by pixel and maybe find the answers that seemed to be out of his reach.

Claire was sitting at the station previously occupied by Vivian, her chair turned sideways and her feet propped on Owen’s, her toes occasionally brushing against his thigh, as she tried to ignore the nauseating anxiety rolling in her stomach. A while back, she felt guilty about ditching them in order to deal with the visitors, but right now, she was grateful for not plunging into this new whirlpool of madness sooner.

“It’s not Delta,” Owen said. “Just the coloring pattern on this… thing’s head.” He squared his jaw. “Doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t push. “What did Dr. Grant say?”

His lips quirked into a humorless smile. “That it’s not a dinosaur. Which, admittedly, applies to half of the animals living here.” He scrubbed his hand down his race, then ran it through his hair, ruffling it. He glanced at her. “You talked to Caldwell?”

Claire shook her head. “Left him three messages. The PR team told me they had no idea about anyone coming here. I think they freaked out a little.”

Owen frowned. “That’s strange.”

“Not really. It could’ve been a favour someone asked of him,” she explained. “The _You get me the juicy deets, I will stop dragging your company’s name through mud_ kind of thing. Or maybe he caught wind of another story brewing and decided to put it to rest before it blew out of proportion.”

Owen didn’t look convinced. “I don’t like it, Claire. Something’s not right here.”

“Tell me about it,” she rubbed the corners of her eyes.

“It just…” he grimaced. “It just seems like a bit of a stretch.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why would Caldwell send the reporters here right when this thing showed up?” He pointed at the screen.

“Wait, you don’t actually think…”

“Look, I’m not saying that there’s no such thing as a coincidence because there sure is. But this,” Owen gestured around the room with a wide swipe of his arm, “doesn’t feel like it.”

“Tell me you’re not serious.”

“Tell me it didn’t cross your mind,” he countered. “Come on. Does it really not strike you as odd?”

She exhaled slowly and didn’t say anything, not wanting to admit that now that he put this idea in her head, it didn’t seem quite as impossible as she’s like to believe. Except it made her stomach twist and her mind reel, and a part of her wished he never brought it up because now it was all she could think about.

“Hey,” Owen called out to her when several moments passed, and Claire continued to stare blankly into space. She blinked and focused on him. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“I just need to talk to Caldwell,” she said with a slight exasperation.

“Yeah, because he’s gonna tell you everything,” Owen snorted.

“Because I need to start somewhere.” She sighed.

He turned back to the screen and messed around with the controls some more. The clip was a few seconds long, and Owen moved the image a few frames back – as if a slightly different angle could change anything, help him understand it all. Absently, he reached into a bag of Twizzlers on Lowery’s desk and pulled out one, chewing absently as his eyes continues to scan the creature and a few feet of jungle around it.

For a while, Claire simply watched him, trying to ignore the picture of _God-knew-what_ entirely – it had been a long day, and her brain was starting to hurt. The past few days were an endless roller-coaster of stress and emotions, and the only thing she could focus on right now was getting a full night of proper sleep. Not that it seemed to be an even remotely optimistic possibility.

“Owen?”

“Mm?”

“When we first met, how come you weren’t…” She bit her lip, grimacing inwardly.

“I wasn’t what?” He turned to her, his head tilted quizzically to his shoulder. In the bluish glow on the monitors, his face looked pale, almost ashen.

“I don’t know. Seeing someone. Or married.” Claire offered him a small, dismissive shrug, although her eyes remained serious, a smile touching her lips not reaching them.  

His eyebrow arched in surprise. “Where did that come from?”

Her lips twitched. “I mean, you can be stubborn and insufferable, and impossible to deal with.”

“Oh, stop with all the flattery,” he scoffed.

Claire ignored him. “But you are kind, and thoughtful, and sweet.” She shook her head, her cheeks heating up as her voice dropped. “It’s just… it’s hard to believe no one got lucky.”

“You have,” Owen reminded her. “On _multiple_ occasions.”

She poked him in a thigh with her toe. “Not what I meant.”

He swiveled on his chair, giving her his full and undivided attention, somewhat baffled and dumbfounded. Her feet dropped to the floor. He grabbed the armrests of her chair and pulled her toward him until their knees were jumbled between then and he could look her square in the face.

“Well, my lifestyle never screamed ‘Comfort, stability and a white picket fence’ to begin with,” he said, threading his fingers through her hair, silky and soft against his rough and calloused skin. “And then I came here.” The smile that spread across his face was almost luminous, and Claire had to force herself not to look away it was so bright. “And on my second day on the island I saw you. Everything else have been kind of snowballing since.”

Claire leaned into his touch, her lips brushing to the inside of his wrist. After spending most of the day in the jungle, he smelled like forest, and the scent sent a pang of longing through her. After everything, she figured she’d be averse to anything reminding her of this place, but now the delicate tangy scent of earth and greenery made her feel like home.  

“This coming for a guy who…”

“Who what?”

“Never mind.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me.” He insisted, curious.

“I thought you hated me.”

“Funny, I thought _you_ hated me,” he echoed with a chuckle.

“Sometimes I don’t know if you’re even real,” Claire said in a whoosh of breath, the corners of her mouth tugging up.

Owen’s thumb ran slowly over her lower lip. “You tell me.”

He leaned in and kissed her – deeply and slowly, leaving them both breathless and dizzy. Her fingers curled around his wrist, her other hand gripped his shirt, the world around them slowing down its crazy spin.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Lowery stepped into the Control Room.

“You guys are still here?” He asked, unfazed, but slightly surprised.

They pulled away from each other, and Owen slumped against the back of his chair, spinning around to face Lowery. He locked his hands behind his head and rolled his tense shoulders, wincing at the cracks in his joints.

“There’s not much else to do here on a Friday night, is there?” He smiled dryly.

“You gonna sleep here?” Lowery’s eyebrows climbed all the way up to his hairline.

Owen glanced at Claire, and she shook her head vigorously. “Nope,” he said, pulling himself up from his chair, and then offering his hand to Claire. “Your night shift?”

Lowery shook his head, pushed his gasses up the bridge of his nose. “No night shifts tonight,” he explained. “Everyone is here. You know, not risking it.” He walked over to his workstation and brought the park’s map back up on the main screen. “I turned on the motion sensors on the perimeter fence. If anything comes too close to the resort, we’ll know.”

His tone was easy, but there was something about the set of his mouth that told Claire that he was just as shaken by their new discovery as she was. It hit her then that it was his second time in the park as well, and even though he mostly stayed behind the thick walls as a silent observer, he had to have been affected deeply by what happened here the first time around. Was he also feeling the dread and fear that coiled inside of her?

She was grateful for his presence though – he was professional and efficient, and more meticulous than she’d give him credit for had she not seen him work his magic. 

Claire nodded. “Call me anytime.”

“Sure thing,” he agreed, and she and Owen headed for the elevator. “Claire?”

She turned around as Owen hit the button, the doors sliding open. “It’s not going to be the same. Not like the last time.” She said to Lowery, wondering if she’d read him right. He nodded and offered her a small smile. “You coming?”

“You go,” he waved them off. “Gotta finish something. I’ll catch a ride with the guys downstairs.”

The security, she remembered.

The doors closed again. “Where to?” Owen asked, leaning against the wall, watching her closely, his eyes taking in her features, registering a shadow of uncertainty, the worry crease between her eyebrows. If he listened carefully enough, he bet he could hear the wheels in her head turn. ”Claire?”

She looked up. “Mm?”

“Where were you?”

“Nothing… nowhere.” She shook it off, offered him a weak, tired smile. “You said something?”

“Your place or mine?”

Claire considered his question for a moment. “Yours.”

“Okay,” he nodded easily. “Didn’t think you’d want to leave the… new guys unsupervised.”

“The security can take care of them,” she said dryly. “If they’re not camped out outside of my door already, they probably will be soon, and I can’t deal with them now.”

“Okay,” Owen repeated, throwing his arm around her and planting a kiss on her forehead when the doors slid open before them again.

\---

It wasn’t something Claire was proud of, but she had to admit – at least to herself – that it was no wonder that until all hell broke loose and her world started to collapse around her, she shamelessly and criminally underestimated the animas living on the island. Oh, she knew they were dangerous. The injury reports from the handlers made frequent stops on her desk before finding their way to the HR department, but thinking of them in terms of profit margins and watching them from behind the reinforced glass was not the same thing. It was akin knowing that the alligators were deadly, but what were her chances of running into an alligator, honestly?

There was a moment, however, a couple of years back, when she was meant to meet a vet or a handler at the I-Rex’s paddock to discuss her health, behavior, and a growth spurt, if she was not mistaken. For whatever reason, he was running late, and she found herself alone in the observatory, eyes scanning the thick, lush greenery on the other side of the glass, searching for the animal.

She hadn’t made the trips to this paddock often – for one thing, she normally didn’t need to, seeing as how her job was to make sure that the work with the hybrid was organized correctly, not to babysit the people who were supposed to know what they were doing. And, quite frankly, mostly she didn’t have the time to check up on every asset living in the park.

At the moment, though, she found herself peering into the patch of forest on the other side of the window, her eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the animal.

The branches moved for a moment or two, and then everything went still again, and all of sudden Claire felt it watching her, too, waiting, the intensity of its stare making her shiver. She had no idea how she managed not to run out of the room, so overwhelmed by the wild, primitive fear she could swim all the way to the mainland just to get away from that thing. And then the man she’d been expecting finally showed up with heaps of apologies, and the feeling was gone. Although Claire never forgot it.

And now, standing by the window in the living room of Owen’s bungalow and looking out into the moonless night, she couldn’t shake off the sensation of being watched again. Not to the same degree, but it still left her skin prickling with goosebumps.

“We can go back,” Owen said, as if reading her mind as he walked up to her.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and buried his face in her hair, breathing in her warm, familiar scent, his awareness dimming, the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones hours ago feeling lighter by the second. With her there, everything seemed right in the world, the storm raging inside of him retreating back into the sea, leaving nothing but calm water behind. He was not sure if this kind of codependency after everything they’d been through was a good or a bad thing, but if it was up to him, he would very much prefer to keep it that way for as long as possible.

Safe, Owen thought. Whole.

These days, his world only made sense when Claire was in his line of sight, or better yet – wound tightly around him, all warmth and softness. Anything less than that was sending him over the edge, his focus scattered instantly, his mind reeling. It was hard to imagine existing without her, and the thought both comforted and terrified him. It wasn’t as bad as after his first tour when he had spent six months living like a coiled spring ready to snap. Back then, he didn’t have anyone to anchor him, to hold him together. But it was still unnerving. Unsettling on more levels than he could ever imagine.

Claire turned around to face him, the tension draining from her muscles as she slipped her arms around him, raising on her tiptoes to brush a kiss to his chin, then to his jaw, her soft breath falling on Owen’s skin making him shiver.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head, her eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes grazing his cheek. “Just take my mind off of this.”

Owen tilter her face up and kissed her, a sigh of contentment escaping his chest, the weight on the world no longer pressing down on him. Claire’s hands slid underneath his shirt and he heard himself growl, only half-aware of the low sound forming in the back of his throat. She bit his lower lip, smiling, as she struggled clumsily to take off his short, soft laughter bubbling up in her chest – a low, throaty sound that reverberated through his entire body, sparking the fire in his stomach.

Her hands skimmed over his chest as he started walking backwards until his calves met the couch, and he plopped down on it, taking Claire with him, her legs framing his thighs and her fingers carding through his hair. His lips parted, tongue darting into her mouth, his thoughts washed away by the jolt of wanting that zinged through him.

“You have no idea how crazy I am about you,” he murmured almost soundlessly between the kisses, feeling the physical shift in her from play to need, her breathing growing shorter and more ragged.

“I have some idea,” Claire responded, whipping her hair behind her shoulder and dipping her head to start pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

“Some, huh?”

Owen brushed his palms along her thighs and up her back, one of his arms sliding under her shirt while the other tangled in her fiery curls, heat flashing up from his belly, pooling at his core. Her voice in his ear, she felt like a molten light filling the cracks running through him, smoothing the rough edges, fear and hunger and need mixing together, ripping him open.

Claire’s touch grew more urgent, her breath hitching in her throat. Hands splayed on his bare chest, suddenly very aware of her tank top and how it needed to be anywhere but between her his skin.

A low growl formed in Owen’s throat, and he tugged impatiently at her top, pulling it off over her head and tossing is aside, her fingers expertly working on the bra clasp behind her back. And then Claire gasped with a mixture of pleasure and encouragement when he palm closed around her breast as his breathing became more labored, shooting sparkles of desire along her skin. And suddenly she was just as needy, arching her back to feel him closer, desperate to feel all of him, her fingers curling tighter around the hair at the nape of his neck, her nails trailing red lines down his chest.

“We’re good together,” Owen muttered hoarsely, kissing her bare shoulder.

She framed his face with her hands, their eyes meeting – ocean blue and a kaleidoscope of green fire, her smile brighter than the sun. She pressed her forehead to his, giddy and lightheaded and feeling like she was made of liquid gold. “Crazy good,” she breathed out, and he grinned at the uncontrolled blush that rose up her cheeks.

Wiggling out of the rest of their clothes was graceless and clumsy and so wonderful, the sound of her soft giggle making his heart pound, his awareness dissipating until he felt like he was dissolving in her arms. He tossed his pants aside, his eyes locked with her – dark and majestic – and then Claire was in his lap again, reaching for him, wild and comforting all at once. He slid into her with a groan, catching her halfway and swallowing her moan as her lips crashed to his, her thighs tightening around his.

She stilled for a moment with her arms clasped around his neck, her breathing coming in short gasps at the sensation of feeling him fill her, the solace and pleasure of it, his gaze searing into her, guiding her like a beacon. His hair was damp with sweat when she weaver her fingers through it, pushing it back from his forehead and kissing him again, stealing his breath away.

“Perfect fit,” Claire agreed against his mouth, and he laughed, shifting his hips to coax her into a slow rock, his hands gripping her thighs, caressing her back, claiming everything she was willing to give.

His mind blurred as she pulsed around him, their rhythm picking up in a collision of skin and hands and lips. He sat up straighter, a completely new angle for both of them that made her whimper softly into his neck as he continued his quest, arching into her, her body as familiar as air, the steadiness of her presence centering his attention, anchoring him.

Until she tightened around him, the grasp of her hands reeling him closer still, her body going limp in his arms, and he was right there with her, muttering a string of curses into her ear, holding on to her in a desperate attempt to stay whole.

Owen shifted them both and fell backwards, stretching on the couch with Claire half-draped over his chest, trying to catch her breath and take a hold of the reality again, marveling in the blissful aftershocks, cradling her close to him, their legs entangled together.

Breath still caught in his throat, he turned his face, pressed his laps to the crown on her head. “Perfect fit,” he echoed with a chuckle that rumbled in his body and straight into her as she nuzzled his chest, her mouth dancing all over his skin. “You okay?” He asked quietly, slowly finding himself again, somewhat aware of the sudden cry of a bird outside the open window, but not quite there yet to place it, or care for it.

“Yeah,” she murmured, snuggling into his warmth in the breeze that felt suddenly cool to her heated skin.

“Wanna take this party to the bedroom?” Owen ran his fingers through the waterfall of her hair, pushing it from her face, his other hand curling around hers lying on his chest, kissing her fingers. She shook her head. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked after a moment or two.

She stayed quiet for a little while, allowing her breath to even out and grow steady again, and then asked, “You think I’m a bad person?”

“Well, duh! You finished the last of Cheerios this morning,” he agreed easily, his hand running along her arm.

Claire pulled away to look at him, “I’m serious.”

“Me, too,” Owen assured her. “You know how I love breakfast food.”

She sighed, not sold on his attempt at humor. “I just… People died, on that day.” There was no need to say what day she was talking. “And all I can think about sometimes is that given a chance, I wouldn’t want to change it because…” A pause. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, her eyes conflicted. “What if _this_ didn’t happen then?”

“Claire…” He started and faltered, the words crowding his mind unable to find their way out. He let out a long breath. “It’s not like it’s something that’s gonna happen.”

“Doesn’t matter. What kind of a person ever thinks that?”

“A human kind,” Owen suggested, running his fingertips down her cheek as something big and bright started to blossom in his chest, her gaze holding him with the gravitational pull of the sun. “Also, I think it would’ve still happened, what with my charm and your crush on me.” He booped her teasingly on the nose.

She rolled her eyes, trying to fight off a smile. “Yeah, well… Between you, and me, and your ego, we’d figure something out.”

“Although I wouldn’t change anything either,” he admitted softly. “Just to be safe, you know?”

He expected a comeback of some sort, but instead Claire lowered her head down again, her forehead pressed to his collarbone, her breathing ticking his chest. “I don’t know what we’re up against now, but sometimes I want to just leave. Forget this place even exists. Before something happened. Before I lost you,” her voice dropped to a whisper, her whole body flexing around his. “There’s got to be a price for surviving the first time around.”

“Not happening,” Owen muttered into her hair, breathing her in, willing the tremor in her voice that sounded all kinds of wrong to his ears to go away, pushing away the undercurrent of unease stirring deep inside of him. “Not going anywhere.” It was hard, near damn impossible, to admit even to himself that those were the same thoughts coursing through his mind. “You’re my everything, Claire. You’re my whole world.”  

“That’s one small world,” she noted, a smile in her voice.

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

\---

“No!”

“Owen…”

“No fucking way.”

The day was hot, the sun hanging high up in the sky, and Claire was starting to feel like this two-minute long conversation had been going on for hours already. Owen looked uncompromising, his jaw set stubbornly, and he was so damn hard to reason with when he didn’t want to be reasoned with.

“It worked the last time so maybe it can work again,” she said rationally, half praying she’d manage to convince him, half hoping he’d talk her out of this plan.

“Yes, I remember how well it worked the last time. That was when the other three of my raptors died.” He pointed out, then stuffed the clicker he was holding in his hand into the pocket of his pants and started toward the other side of the paddock, the catwalk’s grated floor creaking under his feet.

“That’s not what I meant.” She pushed wisps of hair that kept falling on her face away and rested her hands on her hips. “If Blue can track this thing down, then we should…”

Owen stopped and turned around again, his eyes narrowed, although she wasn’t sure if it was frustration or just the sun beaming in his face. Below them, Blue followed their argument like it was a tennis match, her eyes darting between them, head cocked to her shoulder. “What makes you think she can, Claire? She’s not listening to me. I set her loose, and she’ll just take off.”

“You don’t know that. You had your reservations about this plan before--”

“And for good reasons,” he interjected.

Claire let out a long exhale, her own irritation over having to have this talk at all starting to bubble inside of her, mixed with guilt about even thinking to ask him to do it again, to have his raptor follow something into the jungle and probably, maybe help them catch it, whatever the hell it was, at the risk of attacking someone, or being killed. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the lush jungle outside of the paddock, her stomach heavy with uneasiness and doubt.

“She’s our best bet. I know you don’t like this idea, but none of the people have her senses or her ability to track down that… creature.” She folded her arms over her chest.

Owen’s scowl deepened. “Track it down how, exactly?”

“I’m sure we could... find something.”

“Like a pile of dino shit in the woods? Yeah, that sounds like a solid plan.” He snickered harshly, and the sound of it took her aback.

It was no news to her he could be hard and opinionated and dead-set on doing whatever he thought was the right thing to do, but never with her, and the edge in his voice cut her deep.

“So, you would rather put people’s lives in danger?” Claire asked quietly, calmly, like she was talking to a 5-year old throwing a tantrum over a toy he didn’t get.

He flinched at that. “You don’t have to jump to extremes, you know?”

“I didn’t have to ask you. I could have just--”

“Seriously, Claire? You’d just do it? You’d ignore me and have Blue track you-don’t-even-know-what because it’s more convenient than anything else?”

She tipped her chin up to look him in the face. “Don’t twist my words.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Then what is the point of this conversation? You seem to have made the decision already. Why don’t you go to Harris and set him off on this merry chase? It’s not like you need my permission. And, by all means, don’t let me get in your way.”

She pursed her lips together, the color draining from her face. He might have as well slapped her, and it would’ve hurt less. “Well, maybe I will.”  

She turned around abruptly and walked away, ignoring Blue’s excited – or hungry – chirping, the grated catwalk shuddering under the soles of her sandals. She reached the stairs just as Alan Grant climbed the last few steps of them, startling her, her mind still reeling from the fight that came out of nowhere and left a foul aftertaste in her mouth.

“Claire--” Alan started, just as surprised to bump into her as she was to run into him, literally so.

She pushed past him on a hurried, “Excuse me,” tempted to take two steps at a time, or better yet – take a leap and land a few miles away from here.

Puzzled, he watched her leave for a few moments, and then turned to Owen who stood with his hands gripping the raining so tight he could snap the metal tubes in half as he stared unseeingly ahead, his brows furrowed.

“Everything okay?” Alan asked.

Owen’s jaw clenched. “Fucking perfect,” he muttered without looking at him.

\---

_You have reached Frank Caldwell. Please leave your name and your number, and I will get back to you as soon as I can. In case of emergency, please call the Masrani Global on…_

“He’s not available, I’m afraid,” Caldwell’s assistant repeated once again in that calm, breezy voice that set Claire’s teeth on edge. She could oh so clearly picture her filing her nails lazily while Caldwell stared at the wall, not at all unavailable, on the other side of his office door.

“This is Claire Dearing.” Claire said, hoping she didn’t sound as irritated as she felt. “I’ve been trying to reach him…”

“Yes, of course. I have already passed your message to Mr. Caldwell,” the assistant interrupted her. “He will get back to you as soon as he can.”

Claire gripped the steering wheel tighter, only barely resisting the urge to smack it with her fist. Or yell at someone. Or, God help her, cry. She needed to talk to Caldwell, she needed to find out what the hell was going on on the island, the burning lump in her throat left by her argument with Owen make it hard to concentrate on anything.

She pushed the thought away, tried to focus on her task at hand.

It wasn’t that his reaction came as a surprise. Nothing came as a surprise to her these days. It was just … Claire swallowed, hard. She felt hollow, lost, her entire being wanted to fold in on itself and maybe then she could find a way to keep herself whole. It was so stupid, this whole situation, their fight, her need to know that he was on her side no matter. Every-fucking-thing.

The truth was, she never expected Owen to only keep choosing her over everything and everyone else. That would be insane by any standards. But she also never thought he would not choose her. Not pick her side. And this was something she wasn’t prepared to deal with.

“Ms. Dearing!”

Claire parked her car by the Control building and climbed out, shielding her eyes from the sun. She turned to the sound of someone’s voice to find Katherine Marshall hurrying toward her across the parking lot, her camera man close behind.

Claire pursed her lips into a thin line.

It wasn’t hard to forget about this particular inconveniences in the sea of other disasters of different caliber she had to deal with.

She slammed the door shut and started walking toward the building. “You shouldn’t be here, Ms. Marshall. If fact, you should be packing for your trip back home.”

Katherine finally caught up to her. “I just need a few minutes,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “A few questions, and I’ll….”

Claire stopped and looked to her. “I’m taking it no one else wanted to talk to you.”

Katherine frowned, her unwillingness to admit her defeat so clear and visible it all but made Claire laugh. “Just a few minutes, Ms. Dearing…”

“Believe it or not, Ms. Marshall, but I have more pressing issues to take care of than the idle interest of the public.”

“May I quote you on that?”

The roar of the bike cut through the still, hot air as Owen swerved into the clearing, skidding to an abrupt half in front of them and sending sprays of gravel into the air. Claire’s heart skipped a beat and plummeted down as he turned off the engine and dismounted, leaving the bike sitting in the middle of the parking lot.

“Claire,” he started, heading toward her.

“Mr. Grady,” Katherine butted in, her eyes lighting up with interest. “What would you--”

“No comment,” he said without even looking at her and paused before Claire. “Can we talk?”

There had to be something about her, or maybe it was the presence of a strangers that stopped him from reach for her the way he would have otherwise.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something now,” Claire said coolly without meeting his eyes, choosing to focus on the trees behind his back, her chest tight and her throat closed up.

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Owen added quietly, and she had to take a step back.

“Not now, Mr. Grady.”

At that, she turned around and headed inside, half expecting Owen to follow, but a few moments later, his bike revved to life again, and he was gone even before she pulled her key card out of the pocket. Claire suppressed the urge to look around, her fingers trembling when she tried to insert it into the slot.

“Business or personal?” Katherine asked, following her, her expression the one of a vulture.

“Go home, Ms. Marshall,” Claire told her, then swung the door open and slammed it in the reporter’s face before she could sneak inside. “Status?” She asked Lowery as she walked into the Control Room a couple of minutes later.

One of the other techs looked up and gave her a wave, and Claire nodded in response.

“All’s fine.” Lowery pushed his glasses further up his nose. “That was a nice move.” He jerked his chin at the security camera feed showing the front door where Katherine Marshall still stood with her cell phone pressed to her ear.

Claire didn’t comment on that.

“Did our guests behave?”

He shrugged noncommittally. She thought of asking him to elaborate but instead she darted a quick look at the tech sitting in the corner, then wheeled another chair closer to Lowery’s workstation and sat down. Another quick glance at the other man in the room, and she leaned closer still.

“Can you tell me how I can access Wu’s files?” She asked Lowery in a hushed voice.

His ears perked up and he looked at her curiously. “What do you want to find?”

She shook her head. “No, I want you to stay out of it. They can trace the log access even if they can’t see the IP addresses, and they’d know it was one of us.”

“It’s not like I’m not involved,” Lowery insisted in urgent whisper.

“Plausible deniability,” she reminded him.

“So that they couldn’t torture the truth out of me?” He snorted, and her lips quirked for a second. 

“For one thing.”

He regarded her with a great deal of reproach. “You don’t have to do it.”

“If I don’t, who will?” She shrugged as if it was a done deal.

“And what does Owen think about this brilliant idea?”

“Why does he have to think about anything?” She retorted, her voice more strained and harsh than she intended.

“Claire…”

“Are you going to help me or not?” She inquired, cutting him off.

“If I don’t, who will?” He muttered with a sigh.

\---

“ _You sound odd_ ,” Karen noted, ever the perceptive one. Or at least when it suited her.

“My life is odd,” Claire pointed out as if it explained everything.

She had her landline phone receiver squeezed between her shoulder and her ear while her fingers typed the commands Lowery gave her to bypass the InGen’s firewall without having anyone trace her IP address, hoping she wouldn’t mess it up. It was the right decision, she thought, to keep him out of this. If what she thought was happening was true, they’d all be in deep ship for digging through all of this anyway. He’d appreciate her keeping him out of this mess one day.

If Caldwell was somehow connected to Wu and his experiments now… She didn’t even want to think of the ramifications of something like that. But she couldn’t do anything without any proof. Well, she didn’t know what she could do even if she had something solid, but she chose to take one step at a time.

“ _That’s not what I meant_ ,” Karen insisted.

“You’re being paranoid.” Claire blew a strand of hair that kept escaping a sloppy twist she secured on the top of her head with a pencil and insisted on falling on her forehead off with a huff and shifted the receiver to another ear. Lying by her laptop, her cell phone vibrated – a message from Owen. She pointedly looked away, forcing her eyes to stay on the screen.

“ _Well, I nearly lost you once. Wouldn’t want to miss something… big happen again_.”

“Like me being mauled by a T-Rex?” Claire inquired dryly.

“ _Don’t even joke about it_ ,” her sister accused her. “ _So… you’re sure everything’s fine_?”

Claire bit her lip, trying to ignore the tight knot in her chest that was making it hard to breathe and function overall. “Sure.”

“ _And is it true?_ ”

“Is what true?”

“ _That they’re opening the park again_.”

Claire froze, nearly dropping the receiver, her fingers wooden and clumsy. “Where did you hear that?”

“ _On TV_ ,” Karen responded cautiously. “ _They announced it a couple of hours ago and I figured--You… didn’t know?_ ”

Claire swallowed, hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’ll call you back,” she muttered and hung up before her sister could respond, her hand reached for her cell phone.

This couldn’t be happening, could it? It had to be a mistake. They couldn’t possibly be stupid and reckless and senseless enough to even think about it after everything that happened. And she needed answers.

Claire grabbed her cell phone, realizing with horror than in her desire to ignore Owen she missed several calls from the headquarters in the past hour. None of them from Caldwell, which was disconcerting; only from HR and the lawyers representing Masrani Global in the Jurassic World case. There were two messages as well, asking her to call back immediately, and for a few painfully long moments all she could do was stare at them and hope it was a bad dream and she was about to wake up from it. Any moment now…

The door to her office opened, startling her and making her clutch her phone tight after nearly dropping it. For a moment, she thought it was Alan who promised to Claire to call his assistant and ask her to send everything he had on Wu’s experiments from his early days with John Hammond here, but of course, it wasn’t him.

She should have probably known that hiding in her office would be like having a giant arrow pointed at where to look for her first. Not that any of her other options were much better.

Owen hovered in the doorway, whatever determination that got him to come here dissipating before Claire’s eyes, and there was only so much she could do not to throw her arms around her and feel his solid presence, the comfort of his heartbeat against her own chest, after this godawful day.

“Owen…”

“Can we talk?” He asked. “Please, Claire…”

She looked away and crossed her arms over her chest, like a shield – to keep herself from doing something stupid. “It’s not a good time,” she responded in a tight voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and hoarse, as if his throat was held in a vice. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was an odd day, and I was a moron, and I’m sorry for…”

“They’re reopening the park,” Claire blurted out, cutting him off.

For a few long seconds, he just stared at her. “They… what?!”

“Karen called.” She swallowed and shook her head. “I need to get ahold of someone, get them to tell me what’s going on…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He was suddenly right before her, his hands on her shoulders. He ran them up and down her arms. “Just… keep breathing. We’ll figure it out.”

She stepped back and his hands dropped down. “Don’t,” she said. “Please don’t.”

“You’re mad,” he said, deflating visibly. “I’m sorry. For everything I said earlier. God, Claire, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not mad.” Her voice was weary. “I just think… that we need to take a break.”

Her eyebrows pulled together in puzzlement. “From what?”

“This. Us.” She looked away and past him. “Until all of this is over.”

“Claire…”

She might have as well punched him in the solar plexus. It would have probably hurt less. It certainly wouldn’t have knocked all air out of his body as effectively as her words did. Come to think of it, he wished she’d gone for something physical instead of avoiding his gaze.

“Obviously, we can’t maintain professional attitude when our personal relationship is involved.” She added, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

“Are you breaking up with me?” He chocked out in disbelief, desperately grasping for hope that he had heard her wrong. He hated himself for bringing it up at all and for needing to hear her answer.

Claire snapped her head up. “No. No, that’s not…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I just think it would be better, for now. To get our personal issues out of the way.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Owen--”

“Is this what you really want?” He asked in a barely audible whisper, his hands balling into fists involuntarily at his sides.

“Yes,” she responded after a short hesitation.

On that, Owen turned around on his heel and walked out of her office, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make Claire flinch and the windows rattle in their frames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment!  
> It's always nice to know that I'm not just screaming into the void whenever I post something :) Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this chapter is long, and I'm sorry for it. Idk how they end up being so never-ending. Also, I was planning on finishing this fic already, but it seems like there'll be a chapter or two more - sorry about that, too. And thank you guys so much for sticking around even though I've been super slow and random with updates lately.

_Claire would’ve lied to herself if she didn’t admit that ever since the incident, she was expecting the other shoe to drop. Those hours she spent racing through the jungle, her muscles burning with exertion and her feet screaming, covered in blisters, while her mind helpfully supplied her with every possible worst-case scenario were the worst and the hardest thing she’d ever had to go through._

_And then it all ended. Just like that._

_And few months later, it still didn’t feel real. How could it? It took her nearly a decade to build this world. Surely, it couldn’t possibly be destroyed so easily, could it?_

_All through questioning and debriefings and long hours and sleepless nights when she couldn’t so much as close her eyes without feeling like she was falling into a black abyss, Claire was waiting for something else to happen. Something bigger than a few buildings that crumbled before her eyes when the I-Rex wagged its tail or the red flat lines signifying the deaths of the people who were meant to protect them all._

_She would breathe in the salty air, and see the mangled bodies of her nephews in her mind. She’d see Owen in a pool of blood, his eyes wide open and lifeless, and a scream would bubble up in her throat, her whole body paralyzed with fear._

It’s over _, Owen would say when she’d wake up drenched in cold sweat._ It’s over _, her sister would repeat if Claire mentioned this to her._ It’s over, it’s over, it’s over _, from all around her, the suffocating sound of lies._

 _She wanted it to be over, and she also feared that one day it would be_.

\---

For a long moment, Claire simply stood in the middle of her office, staring at the closed door while her heart fluttered frantically in her chest as she tried to process what the hell just happened. Her ears were ringing, the echo of the slammed door resonating inside of her, and she honestly feared she would collapse to the floor, suddenly hollow and more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life.

Did she really say that? Was he even here or was it some kind of elaborate nightmare she couldn’t wake up from?

And then the door flew open again, hitting the wall with a loud bang, and Owen strode back in, his jaw squared.

“You know what? Fuck this shit, Claire,” he said firmly. “We don’t need a break.” He stopped, his chest heaving, and behind the determination, his eyes were desperate and frightened. “People fight and then get over it. That’s how relationships work. And I know it scares you, but guess what? It scares me, too.”

“That’s not what it’s…” She started.

“I know it sounds like a good idea to start running whenever something goes south, but we don’t need it.” His voice cracked, raw emotion in it pinning her to her spot. “You’re mad, and it’s cool. I deserve it. But don’t do it, Claire, don’t push me away. You’re all I have. You’re my whole goddamn universe.”

When she didn’t move away, he stepped toward her, reached over to threat his fingers through her hair, lifting her face up until she had no choice but to look him in the eyes, his expression panicky and pained.

“It’s better that way,” she whispered without conviction. “I can’t keep getting caught up between you and everything else.”

“Easier. It would be _easier_ , not better. And also more pointless.” His thumb ran over her cheekbone, and Claire took in a shuddered breath. “I know it was my idea to come here,” Owen continued. “But if you want to leave, let’s go. Let’s pack up and forget this place ever existed.”

“We can’t just leave,” she protested even though it was the one thing she wanted to do. Forget this island even existed. Never look back.  

“Then let’s get all of this over with, fast. And then go.” He said quietly, holding her gaze. “But we’ll do it together. That was the deal, remember?”

Her fingers curled around his wrists. “I thought you said this was more than just _for survival_.”

“It is,” he assured her. “So much more.” She tugged at his shirt, and he brushed a quick kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, and you have every right to be pissed off, but we can work it out. I swear we can.” 

“Owen…”

“I need you,” he murmured. “Always.”

“I can’t keep having to choose between you and my professional decisions.”

Owen sighed and tipped her face up, his eyes searching her face for a few moments, the struggle so visible on his face it was almost funny.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised. “It’s how it works between us, right? You’re a control freak and I’m a pain in the ass. We make an excellent team.”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” she warned him, trying to swallow back a smile.

“That’s my girl.” Owen chuckled and booped her nose. “Hey, it’s you, Claire. I’ll always choose you.”

“I’d never ask you to choose.”

“I know.” He kissed her softly on the lips, the tension finally leaving his body. “Look, it’s gonna be--”

“Ms. Dearing.” Harris walked in the open door without bothering to knock, pausing for a second at the sight of Owen but seemingly not bothered by interrupting them. “A word?”

She stepped back; Owen’s hands slid down her arm and squeezed her hands for a moment.

“Yes?” She said, ignoring the palpable, almost electric tension in the air. As far as she was concerned, ever since the punching incident, both Owen and Harris went out of their way to avoid one another, and for good reason, she dared to assume.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harris asked, his voice sounding weary for once, and although Owen stiffened noticeably by her side, he didn’t seem to be particularly inclined to start swinging again.

“Right now?” Claire cleared her throat, her head tilted quizzically.

“You know damn well what I mean. Mr. Grady here made a big stink over how no one should go anywhere near his precious raptor, and then you give the tracking plan a go?”

The color drained form her face. “I certainly did not!”

“Well, someone did because I have your approval and signature, and--”

Claire turned to Owen. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t…”

“What did you do? Where’s Blue?” He was not looking at her, his eyes boring into Harris instead.

“Where she’s supposed to be, I hope.”

“Why didn’t anyone call me?” Owen demanded, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and then muttered, “Shit!” under his breath when he saw that it was off.

“We did.” Harris turned to Claire again. “Look, I’m all for it, but you have got to stop changing your mind every five minutes.”

“I didn’t send you anything,” she repeated. “Owen…”

Harris was watching them, his eyes darting between the two of them and his frown reflecting the one Claire suspected was creasing her own forehead. She reached for Owen’s hand, her fingers trembling.

“I didn’t do it.”

He finally looked at her, his features softening momentarily. “I know.”

“I said I didn’t need your permission, but I would never…”

He framed her face with his hands, moving to stand closer to her, only half-paying attention to the fact that Harris was still somewhat present. “I know, Claire.”

She swallowed, hard, willing him to believe her, her heart leaping in her chest, making the proper breathing problematic. “I swear it’s not true.”

“Call it off,” he said to Harris.

“After your girlfriend gave the operation a green light--”

“She said didn’t,” Owen interjected immediately, bristling.

“Well, someone did.” And at that, Harris’s frown deepened like he didn’t like it any better than Owen did, which was perhaps the first time Owen felt some sort of camaraderie toward him.

“Call it off,” Owen repeated. “Something’s not right here.”

\---

“For heaven’s sake, Claire, I didn’t do anything,” Lowery insisted for the umpteenth time.

“I know you didn’t. Who the hell made it happen is all I want to know,” Claire snapped, eyes boring into him.

They were standing at the plaza before the Hilton in the fading light of the day, their voices low and urgent. Her head was swimming and her body buzzing with the desire to know the answers she could not get – not the way she was seeing it. And it was driving her insane. The suddenness and the unexpectedness of everything that was rushing at her like an avalanche were making her feel dizzy.

Earlier, she called Alan and offered to take him back to the mainland the way they promised – the chopper was ready and, as far as security was concerned, the flying species that could get in the way were sticking to their current habitat on the North East cliffs. Much to her surprise, he assured her there was no rush, although Claire couldn’t tell what made him change his mind, and she was too scared to ask lest he choose to leave after all. He had proven being a valuable asset, and although she didn’t want to drag him into any of this more than necessary, she had to admit that he’d helped them greatly.  

“Well, long story short,” Lowery responded immediately, remaining unfazed by her glare, “if I can bypass the security settings, there’s a strong possibility someone else can do it, too.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered, rubbing the corners of her eyes. “And can you--”

“No, I can’t tell you who was it,” he added quickly. “Look, most of the decisions around here go through you. It made sense for them to break into your account.”

“Great,” she breathed out.

“I changed your password, but there’s no telling what they’ve done already.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s just perfect,” she muttered. “Thank you, Lowery.”

He glanced quickly at Barry and Owen who were talking in hushed voices about twenty feet away from them – something she wouldn’t mind being in on - and then leaned closer to her.

“Claire, this place was under a 24/7 supervision for almost a decade. There’s no way this thing was here all along,” he said quietly. “Which means it came from elsewhere.” A pause. “It’s the _where_ and _how_ I want to know more than the _what_.” He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, his Adam’s Apple bobbling up and down his throat. There weren’t many times Claire saw him this unsettled. Not even when he signed up for his second death wish by agreeing to come back here. “Whatever InGen is up to, it’s not good.”

“I know,” she said, her mouth set grimly.

Just then, Owen and Barry walked over them, Owen’s hand resting habitually on the small of her back, his lips grazing her temple absently, relaxing instantly at the contact. Claire’s glanced up at him, eager to steer the conversation to whatever he and Barry were talking about, antsy and anxious not know everything, Lowery’s words still echoing in her head.

She knew all of that, of course – about the impossibility of the secret projects right under their noses, the insanity of this very assumption. But hearing it from someone else made it more real somehow. More ominous.

“You guys want to grab a beer or something?” Barry offered easily as if they were not dealing with a near Apocalypse here.

Owen shook his head. “Raincheck this time?”

“Sure thing.”

He and Lowery waved their goodbyes and trotted toward the hotel and its brightly lit lobby. Through the glass door, Claire could see the vets and the Ingen guys hanging out in the foyer. She wondered where Alan was, but he didn’t seen to be into socializing – too many questions and curious looks for his taste – so she assumed he was in his room. She made a mental note to call him later, not quite certain what she would say.

She turned to Owen, her eyes searching his face. “What was that about? With Barry?”

His gaze hardened for a second, his jaw set. “We’ll do it tomorrow. Have Blue track… whatever it was that Lowery found.”

Claire’s brows knitted together. “I thought you didn’t want to do it.”

“I don’t,” Owen admitted, running his hand down his face and told her they’d found pieces of shed skin in the forest that apparently belonged to this new animal, and using them as something for Blue to follow was their best bet. “It’ll end badly. But – and, for the record, I hate admitting it – Harris might be right and it’s our best shot.”

She nodded, although her expression remained troubled. “Owen, about earlier…”

“Don’t,” he shook his head.

Claire’s hand fell on his chest, her fingers tracing the cracks and worn-out marks on his leather vest as she stared straight ahead. “I would never do anything like that. Fight or no fight, I wouldn’t…”

“I know,” Owen tapped on her chin. Smiled. “I know, Claire. Don’t, okay?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Do you ever think we jumped into this whole thing too fast? I mean, us. Everything…”

Owen leaned back against the hood of her car, his hands on her hips, their eyes on the same level now. “I wish we jumped into it two years ago,” he said, pulling her closer. “I’ve said some dumb stuff, and probably not for the last time,” he paused when Claire snorted, “But you’re the best damn thing that happened to me, and if you need time--”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Or, you could banish me to the couch,” he smirked.

Claire’s hand slid up his chest, her fingers running along the collar of his shirt, brushing his skin. “No,” she repeated, smiling. She tugged at his shirt and pressed her face to his. “Mine,” murmured against his skin.

Owen chuckled into her temple and wrapped his arms around her.

\---

“You know how I said that my feelings for you were unconditional?” Claire asked, stepping out of the bathroom in Owen’s shirt and with a toothbrush in her hand.

Sprawled across the bed on his back, he propped himself up on his elbows. “When did you ever say that?”

“It was implied,” she waved him off.

“And now it isn’t?” He cocked at eyebrow at her.

“Not until you fix the pressure in the shower,” Claire pointed her toothbrush at him, then disappeared again, calling from the bathroom, “I’m serious, Owen. This is getting ridiculous. If I have to spend a whole hour washing my hair again, you’re on your own.”

She turned off the light in the bathroom just as Owen rolled off the bed, pulled off his shirt and attempted to dunk in the hamper, basketball-style. The shirt sailed over her head, earning him a tight-lipped scowl to which he responded with a broad grin. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the scar on his arm – with the bandage and stitches removed, it looked raw, but healing, much to her relief.

“You mean you won’t be staying over anymore?” He inquired.

“Worse,” she stopped by the dresser, picked up the hairbrush and started running it through her hair. “You’ll have to stay over at the Hilton, and I know you don’t like it.”

Owen deposited his shirt properly in the hamper, kicked his boots off and then walked over to her, wrapping his arm around her waist while his other hand threaded through her hair. He rested his chin on her shoulder, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

“I cleaned that vegetable drawer in the fridge like you asked,” he said not without pride.

Claire traced her fingers over his wrist. “Already? If you wanted another week, you’d get to wear a HAZMAT suit to do it.”

He winced. “Damn. I knew I was missing something.”

She giggled, put the hairbrush down and turned around. “I’ve been thinking about Wu.”

Owen snorted. “Well, if that’s what keeps you going…”

She rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm before wiggling out of his grasp. “Smartass.”

“Learning from the best,” he shrugged.

She pulled off the blankets and climbed under the covers, fluffing her pillow as she watched Owen pull off his pants and drop them on the chair by the door before padding into the bathroom. “What’s his game?”

“Money,” he suggested as the water started to run.

Claire slumped against her pillow. “He’s not an idiot, Owen. Here, at Jurassic World, his experiments, however unauthorized, were at least semi legal.”

“ _A lot_ of money?” He poked his head into the room while drying his face off his a towel.

“How much money would it worth to do what he’s doing?”

Shrugging, Owen slipped into the bed next to her. “I don’t know, Claire. Vanity?” He fell onto his back and let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes. “If his experiments succeed, he’ll go down in history.”

Claire tucked her arm under her cheek, watching the outline of his profile for several moments. “There’s got to be more to it.”

He turned to her, his expression weary. “You think he has a secret agenda?”

“Maybe.”

“Sometimes, things are exactly the way they seem.”

At that, Owen turned off the light. He lifted his arm and Claire scooted closer, curling against him, tucked neatly into his body.  

“You didn’t want to break up with me because of the shower, did you?” He asked quietly, running his hand along her arm.

“I wasn’t trying to break up with you, Owen,” she murmured, her fingertips tracing the scars crossing his chest. “I… Oh, god. I’m not good at this.” Her voice dropped. “A year ago, I thought you were the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met, and now you’re the one thing I can think of.”

He brushed a kiss to the top of her head, smiling. “Ditto, Ms. Dearing.” And then, “Wait, you thought I was obnoxious?”

Claire looked up, “Like you weren’t!”

Owen touched his lips to hers. “I was intimidated. Have you _met_ you?”

“Right.” She rubbed her nose against his shoulder, listening to the cicadas chirp outside – the sound carrying through the open window, filling the room. “They’ll reopen this place. And I don’t know what to do.”

“They’re not that crazy.”

“Not straight away. They’ll have to wait for the dust to settle, find the investors, come up with the marketing campaign. It’ll take a while. At least a year, if they play their cards right. Maybe more.”

“Is this what you think Wu is doing on Sorna? Harvesting the new species for the park?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it’s not impossible.”

“Do you want to be a part of it?”

“No,” Claire breathed out, sleepy and soothed by the warmth of his body. “I just want it to be over.”

\---

That night, she woke up with the taste of blood in the mouth and the earth shaking beneath her under the heavy footsteps of the Indominus. She could feel it close to her, its heavy, hot breath of her skin. Her feet sinking into the soft foliage, she tried to catch her breath, but there wasn’t enough air, and the night was so black and suffocating she couldn’t—

“Claire.” Owen’s voice low but steady, his palms on her cheeks. “I’m here. You’re safe. It’s over.”

She stared at him, breathing hard, and then nodded slowly, licking her lips, not quite sure what she was agreeing with. Her hand fell on his chest, warm and solid and real, his heart beating fast and steady under her palm.

“You’re here,” she mouthed soundlessly.

In the dreams, he always died.

“Of course, I am.” Owen smoothed down her hair, his fingers braiding through it, his gaze an anchor that was holding her steady.

Her chest was tight still, a shuddered breath left her body like a sob. He was there, but he wasn’t. She didn’t trust her mind anymore, her senses altered by fear and panic, and when she opened her mouth, the words that made no sense lodged in her throat, a hot lump that made her eyes burn.

“Look at me, Claire,” he instructed quietly but firmly, and her trembling fingers grazed his skin, trying to hold on to him. “It’s okay, baby. Breathe, okay?”

She wanted to tell him then that it was not okay, never would be. That in her mind, she would keep reliving every agonizing moment of that day for the rest of her life. That she would never stop waking up in the middle of the night, believing that their ultimate escape was a figment of her imagination and that they all died on that island.

How was she supposed to know that they didn’t? How was she supposed to explain that to him? How was she supposed to scrub the blood of everyone who died here off her hands?

Claire’s fingers closed around his wrist.

“Shhh,” he pulled her closer, gathering her in his arms until she was folded into his body and her heartbeat started to slow down at last. “It’s over,” Owen repeated again like a mantra, and somehow it was making more sense when he was saying it than when it was just her struggling with the concept.

Almost.

Her stomach twisted, her throat closed up.

“I’m sorry, I have to--”

“Claire…”

She pushed herself away from him and bolted for the bathroom, only barely making it there before she threw up, her face flushed and her whole body shaking. Tiles cold under her bare knees, she sucked in gulp of air, and only then heard Owen’s voice on the other side of the door through the ringing in her ears.

“—come in? Please, open the door.” It was muffled and panicked, almost pleading. She closed her eyes for a moment, which was a mistake – the images rushed back in instantly, stealing her breath once more. She heard a soft thud when he rested his forehead against the wood. “Honey, let me in, please.”

Slowly, Claire wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and pulled herself up on weak, cottony legs, her heart hammering in every corner of her body. She unlocked the door and leaned over the sink to rinse her mouth.

“I’m fine,” she muttered when he stepped into the bathroom, her eyes fixed on the mirror – her skin grey, eyes haunted. It had been a while since that happened – she almost forgot how not fun it was.

“It sucks, I know,” he said quietly as she splashed some water on her face, scrubbing away the sweat. Owen picked up the towel and dabbed her skin gently, then pressed a long kiss to her temple, heaving a relieved sigh. “C’mon.” He tugged her after him and into the bedroom, pulled the coves off and then slipped into bed after her, arm wrapped around her waist.

Claire turned and rolled into him, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured into the his chest, breathing him in, lulled by the comfort of his embrace, allowing herself to let go.

“Don’t be,” he said, his fingers stroking her hair slowly. “You know, for the first few days here, before the whole chopper crap and before you came, I kept hearing the screams in the forest. I spent a couple of nights running around in the dark, thinking someone was hurt, before I realized it was the people who…” he paused, exhaled, “died on that day. They were still in my head. It didn’t stop right away, but when I figured it wasn’t real, at least I knew not to gear up at 2 am every night.”

“That’s... not very reassuring,” Claire admitted quietly.

“This stuff… it gets better.”

There wasn’t much else to say, really. Owen knew the feeling – survival’s guilt. Not knowing why you lucked out when someone else didn’t. He hated seeing her like this, and more than that, he hated knowing that there was nothing he could do or say to make it better. There was no magic fix, no special words, or a pill that could take it all away. And if his experience taught him anything, it was that time didn’t necessary heal everything. But he could be there for her when she needed him, and he hoped it counted for something.

So instead of giving her empty promises, he told her the things he never shared with anyone before. Told her about the NAVY and how it all started, how to wanted to get out of his middle-of-nowhere town and see the world. How he wanted to make a difference and just do something that wasn’t drinking his brains out. How it was nothing like he’d expected, although he didn’t know at the time if it was a good or a bad thing. How there were oh so many things he wished he didn’t do, but he never once regretted his decision to enlist. How his mind was blown by everything he’d seen in the following years. How he’d seemingly seen all the pain there was in the world, but some pretty great things, too.

How he almost missed his flight to Illinois because there was a car crash on the highway and the traffic was stuck, and if he was late there was a chance he’d never make it to where he was now, and the thought was so big he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

“I’d find you,” Claire murmured, wiggling her toes against his foot.

“Not if I’d find you first,” he said. “Sleep, Claire. I’m not going anywhere.”

\---

The next time she woke up, the grey light was filtering through the thin drapes on the window, the morning air was pleasantly cool on her skin. And the bed was empty.

“Owen?” Claire called quietly, her mouth dry and her heart making that leap that resonated in her stomach.

It was barely after dawn, the colors still soft and the shadows crowding the corners. She slipped out of the bed and headed for the living room, her lips curving into a smile when she spotted Owen standing by the kitchen window, her fingers drumming impatiently on the counter as he waited for the coffee-maker to fill the glass pot.

“What are you doing there?” She murmured wrapping her arms around his waist from behind and pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to wake you,” he responded softly, his hand running along her forearm.

“Mm,” she brushed her lips to his skin. “Come back to bed.”

“But you’re up,” Owen glanced at her.

She snorted, then pulled up on the tiptoes and kissed him on the neck while her fingers trailed over his chest and down the flat plain of his stomach. “Do I really need to spell out _everything_ for you?”

He turned around and threaded his fingers through her hair, lifting her face up and kissing her fully on the mouth. Hands still locked behind his back, Claire tugged him with her, only releasing her hold when he pulled urgently on her shirt, eager to get rid of it and the rest of their clothes.

Hands flying all over her body, teasing, caressing, exploring, Owen spread her on the sheets, his gaze skimming over her body in the soft light, drowning in her ocean green eyes. Claire drew him over her like a blanket until her lips found his again, her fingers carding through his hair, digging into his shoulders, her nails leaving marks on his back.

“It tickles,” she giggled when he buried his face in her neck, his stubble grazing her skin.

“Hm, how about this?” Owen mumbled.

He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, another one between his breasts, tracing his mouth down her sternum and toward her navel, brushing his lips to her hipbones. Her eyes fluttered closed as his fingers started doing something magical, knowing all the rights places to touch, a soft whimper falling from her lips, the heat pooling in her belly, zapping along her skin, every brush of his skin against hers making her feel like he was leaving burning marks in his wake.

Owen chuckled against her inner thigh when she arched her back, her fingers bunching fistfuls of sheets, her breath short and coming out in gasps laced with moans.

He kissed his way up her body, slowly, taking his time, blood running hot at the sounds of pleasure filling the charged air around them. Languid and soft, her hair fanned out like a halo, Claire linked hair hands, her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him in. She swallowed a low rumble of his laughter, a groan of desire and wanting. _Finally_.

“Claire…”

“I love it.” She murmured. “I love the sound of my name when you say it.”

Owen laced their fingers together, pinning her hands above her head, his hips settling into a slow rock, determined to savor every moment, make it last. “I want you so bad it drives me crazy,” he whispered hoarsely, nuzzling her cheek, peppering her face with hasty kisses.

Claire wiggled her hands from his grasp, weaved her arms around him, pulling him closer, skin on hot skin. Her palms cupped his face, eyes locked with his, deep green and never-ending. His gaze dropped to her parted hips, almost primal growl forming in his throat, making her laugh. He picked up the pace, slowly, steadily, marveling in the sensation of filing her, his whole being sparkling alive by everything that she was.

Owen pressed away from her and rolled them over. Hands splayed on his chest, her thighs framing his and her eyes slipping shut, Claire moved above him, her hair falling over her shoulders, cascading down her bare back. In the early morning light, the sun just peeking over the treetops, streaming through the thin curtains, she looks luminous, radiant, and so beautiful it hurt. He pushed up, sitting them up, a hand on the small of her back, another one on her thigh. Her eyes flew open, gaze capturing his, grounding him, holding him whole. Owen stole another hungry kiss, a crazy collision of lips and tongue, his mouth trailing along her jaw and down her neck until it closed around her breast.

Claire murmured something into his ear, the words lost in the rush of blood, tangled in their labored breathing. He slipped his thumb between them, watching her eyes grow wide and dark, her fingers scraping his shoulders as she stilled fully, coming undone in his arms.

Hands tangled in her hair, cupping her back of her head, he pressed his mouth to hers, muting her breathy moan, his hips still pumping, faster, closer, until the world fell apart around them in a brilliant color. Owen wrapped his arms around her body trembling in the aftershocks, taking her with him as he fell back, her face pressed into the crook his neck. A light laughter bubbled up in Claire’s chest, mouth pressing slow kisses to whatever skin she could reach as he gasped for air, watching the world spin around them in a bright kaleidoscope.

“I had a dream once, it went exactly like this,” Owen murmured into her hair a little while later, slowly regaining his awareness again, his voice husky and low.

She was curled up against him, her back pressed to his chest, head resting on his outstretched arm, their fingers weaved together. He moved her curls aside and brushed a kiss to the base of her neck.

Claire snorted. “Something you wanted to _consult_ with me about, I presume?”

He chuckled. “Ever since the day we met and you yelled at me.”

“Excuse me?” Her mouth dropped open. “I certainly did not!”

“You don’t remember?”

She half turned to him. “I don’t remember yelling. I wouldn’t…”

“You were wearing a navy skirt, I was late for the staff meeting because Delta stirred up some trouble in the paddock, and you let me know, explicitly, how not okay it was.” Owen trailed his fingertips slowly along her arm before resting his palm on her stomach and kissed her bare shoulder. “It was kinda hot.”

“The yelling?”

“The skirt,” he corrected her. “So, you do remember yelling?”

“No,” she smiled. “But I remember the skirt. I might still have it.”

What Owen remembered was the glow of her eyes, and being paralyzed in the moment, both furious at her for acting all high and mighty even though they’d literally just met and mesmerized by her. He remembered a wisp of hair that fell on her cheek and wanting to brush it off, see for himself if her skin was as soft as it looked. Remembered wondering what she’d do if he snapped back – she’d already had a reputation on the island he was well aware of, and a part of him desperately wanted to test it.

There wasn’t a day since then that he didn’t want to kiss her senseless until she forgot the world.

“Are you okay? I mean, after…” Owen trailed off. “You can talk to me, you know.”  

Claire’s gaze slipped past him, her smile fading. “Zara was supposed to get married in a few weeks. A boutique where I ordered a dress for the reception called yesterday to let me know I could pick it up.” She bit her bottom lip. “In the aftermath of… well, everything, I forgot to cancel it.”

“Claire, it wasn’t….”

“Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault,” she shook her head.

“Okay,” he lifted her chin, pecked her lightly on the lips, and then one more time. “Everything was your fault, from Godzilla to Hitler.”

“Godzilla isn’t real, Owen.”

“The jury’s still out of this one,” he huffed as she turned fully to him for a proper kiss, her lips curved slightly, a delicate bow beaconing him. “Gotta go soon. Probably better hop in the shower.”

“Need a company?”

“Nice try.” He kissed her quickly on the nose. “But we know how it’s gonna go if I say yes.”

An eyebrow arched, Claire hummed. “And it’s a bad thing why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining….” Owen started as her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him down to her. “Never mind, they won’t start without me.”

\---

“Don’t go,” she asked as she watched him get dressed. Sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, Claire could feel cold uneasiness churn in her stomach.

Owen fetched his shirt from the back of the chair by the door.

“Claire…”

“Let them do it without you,” she insisted.

“Can’t.” He shook his head, his expression conflicted. “Blue’s my raptor. Whatever InGen says. And… Look, it’s gonna be fine, okay? It won’t be anything like…” He cut off and shrugged. _Like that first time when half of ACU got killed_. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that statement, a bitter and humorless sound struggling to escape her chest.

“Then I’ll go with you,” she said then.

“No.”

“I can help,” Claire insisted.

Owen walked over to the bed and perched on the edge next to her, his fingers curling around hers, his thumb stroking the palm of her hand.

“I know you can.” The corner of his mouth lifted, forming a small smile, the panic in his eyes pushed back for a moment. “Doesn’t mean you _have_ to.” She started to open her mouth to protest, and he added quickly, “Remember how we talked about how sometimes I just need to know that you’re safe? This is one of those moments, okay? I can’t worry about both of you right now.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she protested, her lips pursed together into a stubborn line.

“It’s not really a matter of choice.” With that, he lifted her chin, holding her gaze for a long moment – long enough to his heartbeat to get back to normal - and then kissed her, quick and hard. “Humor me, okay?”

She rolled her eyes, not at all convinced. “Okay, fine.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Owen,” she called when he started to get up, and then grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him down for another kiss. “If anything happens to you, I’m going to kill you.”

After he left, Claire flopped onto her back, her teeth digging into their bottom lip, her mind racing. This didn’t feel good, although she couldn’t quite place her finger on why – save for that time when this plan didn’t work the first time around and they ended up having to fend off the I-Rex _and_ the supposedly ‘trained’ raptors. She saw them eat people they were supposed to obey to, and how ironic was it that Hoskins fell victim of one of them, foolishly assuming they were nothing but the circus monkeys?

She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in Owen’s pillow, breathing in his scent and snagging the last remnants of warmth he left behind still lingering between the sheets, tempted to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Sometimes, when she was with him, the world seemed less real than his touch, blurred at the edges. Claire liked it better that way. There was too much uncertainty when she looked at the things closely.

But, as appealing as the idea sounded, it didn’t seem particularly possible.

Her phone beeped, and just like that, she was free-falling from thirty thousand feet, feeling both perfectly still and like she was rushing forward faster than she could imagine, wondering if she was going to make it, or shatter to pieces in the end.

Claire climbed out of the bed and started a new pot of coffee, checking the messages while it brewed.  She took a quick shower and called Alan to ask him to keep the reporters busy with some old stories, feeling guilty for doing it and guiltier still when he said yes, all the while trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together and see the bigger picture at last.

She’d been working with Dr. Wu since she started this project, and he was involved with it for two thirds of Claire’s life. Was she mistaken about him the whole time? And what about the raptors? Sure, Hoskins went a little too far with the military application, but what exactly was Simon going to do with them? He had them trained for something… And the more she was thinking about it, the more insane she felt.

Checking the news was a mistake. The public was outraged, naturally. It had only been a few months, and even if Masrani planned to reopen in a year from now – which was a big if because who in their right mind would come here again? – the company would still be only halfway through the lawsuits filed against the management. As a person whose family nearly got killed in the incident, she was outraged. As a person with the basic knowledge of business, she found the situation almost hilarious. What they were doing was a strategic corporate suicide.

Which meant there was something she wasn’t seeing.

Which was giving her a headache.

Her phone chimed again. A message from Owen. _Should’ve taken you up on that offer to spend a day in bed._ Claire smiled. _Or in the shower. Or on the couch. Or in any other interesting place of your choice_.

 _Get here then_ , she responded.

 _Low battery_ , Owen replied after a few moments. _See ya soon x_

She called Lowery next to get an update on whatever was going on. He briefed her on the Pteranodon sightings and the fact that they were running out of snacks for the T-Rex, and Claire promised him to sign the order for the livestock to be delivered from the mainland.

“ _Hey, what about Channel 9?_ ” Lowery asked.

“What about them?” Claire asked absently, Ms. Marshall and her companion so low on her list of priorities she could barely spot them.

“ _Well, they left_ \--”

“Thank God,” she muttered.

“ _No, Claire. They left the territory of the resort_ ,” he clarified.

She froze. “They what?!”

“ _You didn’t know? I thought it’s why you were calling_.”

“Do I sound like I knew it?” Claire snapped, her hands clutching the phone tighter. “When did it happen?”

“ _Maybe half an hour ago?_ ” He didn’t sound so sure.

“I thought they were with Dr. Grant.”

“ _That I know nothing about_.”

“And no one tried to stop them?” She demanded.

“ _I told this guy, Harris, but he said, and I quote, ‘I’m not here to babysit anyone’_ \--”

“That’s just great… Where did they go?” Claire interrupted him.

Foe a few moments, all she could hear was a rapid sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard before he spoke again. “ _Well, they left through the southeast gate_ …”

“Send someone there,” she instructed him and hung up just as he began:

“ _But everyone’s_ \--”

She dialed Owen, and then hit Disconnect, cursing under her breath when she remembered that his phone was dead. She tried Barry next, but her call went straight to voicemail, and after leaving a brief message to him, she grabbed her keys and headed out.

It wasn’t like she had much of a choice.

Katherine Marshall and her companion might not be InGen’s problem but they still were Claire’s responsibility, technically. And how far could they have gone on foot, anyway?

\---

_There was something exhilarating about being needed. An indescribably feeling, really._

_Owen spent the first 30-something years of his life avoiding close attachments at all costs, turning away from anything and anyone that could bind him to one place, a moment in time, the future that he couldn’t change at the snap of his fingers. And he liked it that way, he liked knowing that nothing about his path was clear and laid-out and planned ahead. He didn’t mind not being needed._

_And then he suddenly found himself in the Jurassic World lab early in the morning, staring at 4 ostrich-sized eggs crack open one after another and tiny, curious snouts emerge, their eyes taking in a small part of the world they’d been brought into._

_Owen knew they weren’t his, per se, and that technically they didn’t need him to survive. But as it turned out, imprinting ran both ways, and before he knew it, he was as attached to them as they were to him._

_(These days, the only time he felt the same way was when he’d catch Claire watch him when she thought he didn’t notice – something that never failed to steal his breath away.)_

_With the raptors, Owen always knew it was only a job. He knew it wasn’t forever. But he never thought he’d have to watch three of them die._

_Being needed came with a price_.

“So, how does it work, exactly?” Harris asked as he watched Owen put a camera on Blue who growled in her harness, baring her teeth, her eyes narrowed aggressively.

“You’ve read the reports,” Owen said flatly, fidgeting with the camera settings until the image on the tablet came into proper focus.

“But I haven’t been here.”

“What I was saying all along….” Owen muttered, and straightened up to fill him in.

Around them, a few handlers and half a dozen heavily armed ACU guys broke down into small groups, filling the air with the low hum of anxious conversations. A few on them were here when all shit went down the first time, and Owen could feel their uneasiness with his skin – this was not what they signed up for this time. It was supposed to be an easy task – tranq a few species, fend off a few more, herd the herbivores someplace or the other to separate them from the carnivore animals. This was supposed to be about taking care of the basic security while the vets worked on the sick or injured dinosaurs and the admin stuff emptied the hotel rooms.

No one here expected another hunt, and few were up for it.

Blue struggled in the harness, eager to get out of it, and Owen’s stomach coiled. Was it an instinct, or a foreboding, he couldn’t tell, but a few months ago he at least felt like he knew what to expect from her. Right now, she was a wild card at best, and a vicious animal controlled by her instincts that wouldn’t hesitate to turn on each and every one of them at worst.  

If anyone died today, it would be on him and his poor judgement.

“Everyone, clear!” Owen shouted at last when he couldn’t keep putting it off any longer, and the whole crowd scattered away, the sounds of their voices dying down immediately as if someone put them on mute.

Owen paused for another moment, wishing Claire was there. No, scratch that – he wished they were both in Hawaii somewhere. Anywhere but here. Safe.

And then he climbed up to the catwalk, joining a few other men whose eyes were trained on the clearing below with the intensity strong enough to set the whole island on fire.

All of a sudden, this plan started to look utterly ridiculous. What were they thinking?

But before he knew it, he pressed the button, and the cage door flew open. The next second, Blue shot out of it and disappeared in the forest before he could so much as blink, and his heart sunk. With the tracker under her skin, they didn’t need to follow her like the last time, they’d just trail behind, following its signal. Although in that instant, his whole body itched to jump on that bike of his and catch up with her as fast as he could. Sometimes, he understood Claire’s control issues all too well.

“What now?” Harris asked from a few feet away, his face scrunched into a frown.

Owen pursed his lips together for a long moment. Honestly, if he knew an answer to that question, they probably wouldn’t be standing there now.

“Now we follow her,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear and headed back down, the metal staircase creaking under his feet. “But keep your distance. We don’t want to confuse her. Or scare her into attacking anyone.”

Owen didn’t wait for the response – these people knew what they were doing, knew how to follow instructions to the letter and stay safe under any circumstances. Or almost any. He didn’t need to hold their hands. Instead, he headed straight for his bike, listening to the car doors open and slam shut behind his back, his insides twisting.

“Owen!”

Shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, he turned to see Barry running toward him from the other side of the paddock.

“You wanna sit this one out?” Owen asked, seeing as how the first round wasn’t exactly a picnic for Barry either. Not that it was for anyone.

Barry ignored him and shoved his phone at him. “It’s Claire.”

Owen’s heart dropped.

He replayed the voicemail, promptly forgetting how to breathe. “Shit,” he muttered and dialed her, but she didn’t pick up. “I gotta go get her before…”

Before she marched into the fucking forest with nothing but a Swiss knife or something to rescue some morons that didn’t know any better than t traipse around this hellhole. Trust Claire Dearing to jump into a volcano for what she considered a good cause.

“There’s something else,” Barry added in a low, troubled voice. And then he showed Owen the tablet with the blinking dot, indicating Blue’s tracker moving across the screen.

“Shit!” Owen repeated.

\---

“Ms. Dearing…”

Claire was halfway between the bungalow and her car parked in the shade of the trees across the clearing when she saw Alan hurrying toward her, the park’s jeep he drove sitting on the side of the road a little ways from Owen’s house. And instantly, her mind helpfully offered her about a million things that could have gone wrong to make him come all the way here.

It was a relief, however, to see he didn’t appear to be in any apparent distress. He was holding a folder in his hand, a tranq gun slung casually over his shoulder, and had she not known any better, she’d easily take him for one of the InGen men he looked so organic in this place.

“Dr. Grant,” she breathed out, her eyes darting toward her car, torn by the moment. Lately, she was feeling more and more like everything was snowballing around her, and quite frankly, it was starting to get old. “I’m sorry, but could it wait? I’ve got…” She paused, finally finding the right key.

He regarded her curiously, his eyebrows pulled together. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, sure…” She began automatically, and then exhale sharply. “No, actually it’s not. Not really.”

“Do you need any help?”

Clair hesitated. The last thing she needed was to drag Alan Grant even further into this mess.

“Yes. I do,” she admitted nonetheless.

Her gaze flickered toward her silent phone again and she bit into her lip, hoping Ms. Marshall had at least the sense to stay on the road. If they wandered off into the jungle, she’d need a whole army to find them. If they hadn’t turned into someone’s lunch already, at that She recalled Owen joking about having tracking implants for people – for her, mainly, even though he was the one constantly getting in trouble – but right now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

She caught Alan up on what had happened, his frown deepening with her every word, until his expression had that hard, uncompromising quality to it, like his face was carved from a piece of granite.

“You sure it’s a good idea?” Alan asked.

“Nope.”

“Well, I do appreciate your honesty.” 

Claire smirked humorlessly. “That’s a first.”

His lips quirked a little. “Lead the--”

He cut off suddenly, going completely still, and it took Claire a moment or two to realize that something went wrong.

“Dr. Grant?”

“Shhh,” Alan pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes scanning the trees surrounding the clearing in front of the bungalow.

That was when she heard it, too. Heavy breathing. Something big trying to stay quiet but failing on several accounts. But it was the fact that it clearly was a calculated move aimed at staying undetected for an attack that made chill run down her spine. There was something comforting in blunt and direct assault, in the way those animals acted on instinct. If that thing just leaped out of the bushes, it would be easier to deal with than knowing that they all but had a _Dinner served_ sign hanging over their heads while something was waiting for a perfect moment to make a move.

And then it stepped from behind the trees, the animal she saw on the screen in Control Room not two days ago, its teeth bared and its eyes glowing, bloodlust pooling in them.

“Oh, god,” Claire muttered.

“Quite on contrary,” Alan muttered beside her as the hybrid opened its mouth and roared.

**To be continued....**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment :)) Comments are love!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys still here? I'm doing my best not to disappear.
> 
> Also, this story has finally crossed the 100k mark, so.... Wooohoo! :))

_"So come to me my love_  
_I'll tap into your strength and drain it dry._ _.."_  
_My Medea by Vienna Teng_

 

_“You can’t have it all, Claire,” Karen noted._

_“Says who?” Claire asked, an eyebrow arched._

_“Logic. Common sense.”_

_“It’s not as common as you think,” she pointed out with a scoff._

_But she_ did _want it all. And she knew she could have it. Not her sister’s all, perhaps, she thought. Not a house with a picket fence in the suburbs and two perfect kids. That was too much._

_Claire glanced at Karen feeding carrot puree to a six-month old Gray who seemed to be determined to leave most of it on his mother’s hair. She wanted to go far and fast, wanted her life to be a whirlwind of achievements, each of them being a new beginning of something else._

_Back then, sky was the limit, and even that didn’t seem like something that could stop her. She didn’t doubt herself once._

_“My point is,” Karen continued, “that you can’t keep running away your whole life.”_

_“Not away but towards,” Claire countered._

_“Towards what?” Karen tilted her hear quizzically, and added when her sister didn’t respond, “Thought so.”_

\---

Gray asked her to come to his end-of –the-school-year science fair. A couple of weeks ago, after he and Zach caught her in Owen’s house, he called her and invited them both to the fair and his 6th grade graduation. _Of course_ , she said without even thinking, really and truly meaning it. God knew, she’d missed enough already.

Claire even ordered a gift for him – a special edition of his favourite book series, signed by the author. It was so easy to imagine Karen shaking her head at the gesture as Claire pressed ‘Confirm’, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her sister might call it spoiling but Claire viewed it as finally trying to be a part of the boys’ lives. She wanted to be a _cool_ aunt. The one that makes her nephews happy instead of setting a murder machine loose on them. She still needed to bring this up with Owen, but she kept forgetting about it, only remembering Gray’s request at the most inconvenient times.

Like when she was staring at the rows of razor-sharp teeth of a hybrid who was staring back at her, its eyes two narrow slits, its breath deliberately slow as if it was still trying to conceal itself, make itself invisible. Its skin was grey with brown stripes running from its ears, down its neck and along its sides. Its fingers with long talons were flexing ever so slightly as though it couldn’t wait to sink them into something, some _one_ ….

Claire inhaled sharply, her breath catching in her throat, her whole body feeling stiff and numb, her mind suddenly empty. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from those teeth, from the smears of blood on the beast’s snout.

“Don’t move,” Alan mouthed almost soundlessly.

Not a problem, Claire thought as the hybrid stepped into the clearing, sniffing the air.

They were standing right in the middle of Owen’s front lawn, between the bungalow and her car parked in the shade of palm trees. If they made a beeline for the house, the animal would intercept with them before they reached the door. If they ran for the car, it would mean turning their backs to it and god only knew how fast it was. _Did she lock it?_ Claire wondered rather absently, more as an afterthought than an actual concern.

Everything that led them to this moment started with Claire underestimating one of these animals the first time around. She could barely believe now how stupid and blind she was, how far she allowed the situation to get before finally seeing things for what they were. Now, she was not going to make this mistake again. Assuming that this hybrid was not fast enough, or not smart enough, or not something else enough would be the death of them.

Beside her, Alan slowly shrugged his tranq rifle off his shoulder and raised it up, the barrel pointing at the dinosaur.

Claire stilled, freezing in a spot as she watched the animal take one step toward them and then another. It was like it knew they had nowhere to go and there was no need to rush and ruin the moment. In the back of her mind, she was certain this was what a mouse felt when a cat was playing with it – fear and futility of trying to escape.

Alan’s gun went off with a soft click, but the dart bounced off the animal’s skin without leaving so much as a scratch. What it did manage to do was enrage it. The dinosaur charged for them with a roar, the ground trembling under its heavy footfalls, reverberating through Claire’s body and making the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end.

Alan pushed her aside and jumped in the opposite direction as she stumbled on the uneven ground and tumbled into the picnic table, sharp pain shooting through her shoulder on impact. She landed on her knees, turned and scooted back, and then scrambled awkwardly to her feet. The animal chose to go after Dr. Grant and not her, and she saw it reach for him with its claws. A splatter of blood landed on the glass in a graceful arc, its heavy metal smell filling the air. Alan hit the dinosaur in the snout with the stock of his rifle, trying to keep its teeth away from his skin.

And then something rushed out of the forest with a high-pitched warning screech, bumping straight into the hybrid, both of them rolling away from the man in a knot of teeth and tails.

Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, blood hammering fast in her temples. There was a gun in her car and another one in the bungalow, and she could…

The animals fell apart and were now crouching and circling one another, their teeth snapping, their breaths coming out in angry labored puffs.

It took her a moment to recognize the familiar blue stripes running from the eyes of the second dinosaur and along its body, and then another one to notice a black camera strapped to its head. As if on cue, Blue turned and looked at Claire, her head tilted in confusion, her nostrils moving ever so slightly as she sniffed the air.

“Stay quiet,” Alan warned her, remaining perfectly still on the ground.

They were dead, Claire thought as her heart sank down into her stomach. She did as he said though, resisting the urge to turn and see how he was doing. But instead of attacking either one of them, Blue tuned her back to Claire again, stepping firmly between her and the other dinosaur, her eyes narrowed dangerously. She was smaller, more lithe, less stocky, but somehow more fierce and wild. More deadly.

Claire took a cautious step back, and then another one. And then the heel of her boot hit a thick root protruding from the earth, and she lost her balance, her back hitting the tree, all air knocked out of her lungs. She slid down to the ground, rough bark scratching her skin even through her shirt. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as the hybrid span around, its unblinking eyes fixed on the prey.

It wagged its tail as it stepped toward Claire, its movements slow and almost taunting as if it was trying to figure out the most elaborate way to rip her apart. Behind it, Blue let out an angry cluck and sprung forward, her teeth sinking into the other animal’s shoulder, but a moment later she was tossed aside like a rag doll, and the next thing Claire knew there were teeth coming at her, _for_ her.

And then a gunshot, so loud it tuned out the rest of the world.

And then nothing.

Her ears still ringing, Claire stared at the motionless body of a hybrid sprawled on the grass before her, its head practically nonexistent, blown away by the bullet. The air around them smelled strongly of smoke and blood, and her heart was fluttering so fast in her chest she couldn’t breathe.

“Claire!”

Owen lowered his rifle and slung it over his shoulder, then propped his bike up on its kickstand and sprinted toward her across the clearing, pausing only to help Alan up but the latter only waved him off, hauling himself up on his own. At the sound of her name, Claire whipped her head around. There were droplets of blood on her cheek, and his stomach twisted, his gaze taking her in in search for any injuries, trying to see if she was hurt—

Claire leaped up to her feet before he reached her, barreling into him when he closed the distance between them, her whole body shaking. In the midst of this madness, she didn’t even hear his bike.

“Hey,” Owen muttered into her hair as his arms locked around her, the leather hooked to his rifle digging into his chest. He was somewhat aware of the other vehicles arriving, of the people running past them, shouting brisk orders, a crowd gathering around the mangled body of the hybrid, the air abuzz with tension. Someone hurried over to Alan’s side. Barry was speaking into his radio. It was hard to make sense of any of this. “You okay?” He asked quietly. Claire nodded numbly and turned to look at the dead animal over her shoulder, bunching fistfuls of his shirt with her fingers. “Hurt?”

“No,” she said through a shuddered breath.

He pulled back just far enough away to look in her her face. “You’ve got…”

She brushed her palm to her cheek, surprised to find red stains on her fingers. “Not mine.” She shook her head.

Owen smoothed down her hair. “Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

She glanced past him. “What about…”

“ACU will take care of this.”

“No, I mean…” she scanned a semicircle of the jungle hugging the lawn in front of the bungalow.

 _Blue_.

Owen’s jaw tightened as he stepped back, his hand siding down Claire’s arm, fingers weaving through hers. Eyes narrowed slightly, he peered into the greenery where the raptor was seen last, spooked by the gunshot, trying to catch any movement in the ferns, and then puffed out a breath.

“She’s got an implant. We’ll find her later,” he said, tuning to Claire, still visibly torn. Yes, they were on the island. Yes, she had nowhere to go. It didn’t really change anything though. If she wasn’t where she was supposed to be, his instinct was to go looking for her. Plain and simple.

“Look, if you want to--” Claire began, not any less conflicted.

“Later,” he shook his head and pressed a quick kiss to her temple, feeling weak in the knees from the adrenaline rush that started to wane slowly. “Let’s go.”

\---

ACU took the decapitated corpse of the dinosaur to the lab - so that they could run tests on it and, as Alan put it, crack its DNA code, see if they could figure out what it’d been made of. He seriously doubted they’d succeed – doubted anyone aside from Wu could have all the answers, but it was worth a shot. He was adamant to join them – now that the threat was gone, his curiosity spiked, his mind racing ahead.

The cut on his forearm was bleeding pretty badly though, and the make-shift bandage he secured around it wasn’t enough.

Claire steered him toward one of the jeeps while Owen exchanged a few quick and intense words with Harris and Barry, all of them looking a bit more concerned for her liking, especially considering that everything was over at last and they could finally stop holding their breaths waiting for another shoe to drop. However, she was somewhat relived to note that no one seemed to be keen on throwing punches, but it felt more like calm before the storm than actual truce.

Afterwards, they drove back to the resort, Owen’s hand clasping Claire’s even though he barely glanced away from the road stretching ahead of them, gripping the wheel so tight it seemed like it was about to snap. Alan sat in the back, also staring pensively out the window, his wounded arm cradled to his chest. The conversation stalled, and after receiving nothing but a couple of noncommittal grunts from both of them, Claire sunk back into her seat and tried to push the images of what just happened out of her mind - without much success – somewhat soothed by the slow circles Owen’s thumb was rubbing into her knuckles.

She squeezed his hand, and he glanced at her quickly before bringing her hand up and kissing her fingers. “It’s over.”

It didn’t feel like it.

“Well, that was… something else,” Alan breathed out in disbelief.

“Can I ask you something… personal?” Claire dropped her voice and focused on pressing a towel to the deep gash on his forearm as they waited for the medic to make it back to the first aid station near the Hilton

He grimaced a little, although she couldn’t tell if it was her question or the fact that his arm nearly got ripped off not an hour ago that caused it. Maybe both. “I’m tempted to say no, but I’m curious.”

Claire let out a long breath and sucked in her lips for a moment, suddenly uncertain and embarrassed. She flicked a surreptitious look at Owen who was talking to someone on the radio in the corridor, his face grave and grim. “You and Dr. Sattler… I know what happened between the two of you.”

Alan’s lips quirked a little, forming into a humorless half smile. “I’m sure the whole world knows what happened between me and Ellie.” And then, “And I can assure you, you and Mr. Grady are not us.”

Claire cleared her throat, finally managing to secure the damned towel on his arm, and then tipped her chin up to look him in the face. “Why would you…”

He rewarded her with his usual smirk. “Was it not what you were going to ask?”

She paused. “Well, yes. Maybe.” She shook her head. This conversation didn’t seem quite as ridiculous in her head. “I guess what I wanted to ask… Do you think it didn’t work out between you two because of what happened here? I mean….”

Alan let out a wistful sigh. “It didn’t work out because, much like John Hammond, Ellie and I wanted it all and we wanted it at once. But it turned out that our _all_ was fundamentally different.” He turned to Claire. “She wanted more than I could give her. It was just that.”

She studied him for a long moment. “Do you ever regret that it ended that way?”

Alan glanced past her shoulder, and when Claire followed his gaze, she saw a medic walk right past Owen, heading their way. He was called back from a field operation, although she couldn’t quite decide whether he looked happy to be pulled out of having to be an assistant to a vet and actually deal with people or not. Wasn’t sure how’d she feel about it either, had she been in his position.

“Every day of my life,” Alan muttered under his breath.

\---

Heavy clouds pulled over their heads and the sky opened up all of the sudden mere minutes before they made it to the Hilton, drenching Owen, Claire, Alan and their staff medic to the bones. Owen shook his head like a dog that just climbed out of the water, and Claire grimaced at the sight of puddles they were leaving on the marble floor.

In the past hour, while she washed the grime and blood off her own skin, Alan’s wounds had been taken care of properly. She was determined to send him back to the mainland first thing in the morning to have him properly examined at the hospital. He tried to protest, his curiosity over the discovery of a new animal taking over his precaution, but Claire wouldn’t have any of it. She was not going to take any more chances, and there must have been something about her voice that told him to stop arguing. He still requested the lab reports to be sent to him and she agreed, if a little reluctantly.

Owen smartly stayed out of this conversation.

In the foyer of the Hilton, they found Barry talking to another member of the ACU team.

Katherine Marshall was sitting on the leather couch in a state of mild shock with her hands clasped between her knees, staring vacantly at the coffee table. There were cuts on her arms and smears on blood on her face and her clothes were smudged with dirt, but otherwise she looked more or less unharmed. If she weren’t, they’d have brought her to the first aid station, Claire thought as she marched up across the lobby toward what used to be a waiting area for the guests.

Earlier, Owen explained to her that they found her in the woods, hiding in the ravine, while they were following the signal coming from Blue’s tracker. The body of her colleague, shredded into spaghetti, was discarded nearby.

Barry and another man looked up at the sound of her footsteps.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Claire snapped, overcome with anger – at Wu for making the goddamned thing that killed and maimed people today, at Katherine Marshall for being here, at the man she brought with her for dying, at the headache pulsing behind her eyes, at the whole world that couldn’t give her a break for one fucking day.

Kathrine looked up slowly, her eyes puffy and glazed over, her lips trembling.

“He’s… Jason…. He’s dead,” she muttered in bewilderment as if the thought hadn’t quite registered with her yet. And then she dropped her head in her palms and burst into tears, her shoulders shaking with every convulsive sob.

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose, willing her headache away, and exhaled slowly.

“Well, what did you expect when you left the resort and marched into the forest?” She asked firmly, unkindly.

A part of her was guilty about speaking like this to a traumatized woman, especially when she knew firsthand what it was like to go through something that horrendous. But at the same time, she was sick and tired of babysitting someone who should have known better than being this stupid. No one was safe or invincible on this island. And now it was her fault, again. Because she didn’t lock them up and ship them off first chance she had. And, if she were honest with herself, Claire couldn't bear being blamed for the other people’s poor decisions any longer.

“He told us there’d be…” Katherine tried to take a breath but her words came out all jumbled up and unintelligible. “There’d be… what he promised… there.”

Claire dropped her hand, feeling dizzy by the moment. “Who?”

Even the air seemed to go completely still around them.

Katherine sniffled. “Frank Caldwell. He said we’d get exclusive material if we keep it quiet and do as he said.”

\---

“It makes sense,” Claire admitted, her voice miserable. She pushed the door to her suite open and turning on the light. “He’s running the company now, he has the access to… everything. He’s got…”

She stopped and turned to Owen who locked the door behind them and was watching her wearily.

From the information she managed to pry out of Katherine, Claire found out that Frank Caldwell contacted her a couple of weeks ago and offered her a trip to the island, claiming it was easier to have one person know the truth than fend off a few dozen speculating about whatever wild fantasies the public came up with.

This morning, he called her again and told her to leave the resort and head east, which she and _Jason_ did. They didn’t have a problem sneaking out, seeing as how most of the team was at the raptors’ paddock and no one was interested in looking after them – they weren’t the tourists and, as far as everyone was concerned, they were supposed to know what they were doing. According to Katherine, they made it to the outskirts of what used to be a Pachy enclosure, currently vacant, when something jumped out of the trees, and the next thing she knew, she basically flew up a tree while the animal attacked Jason Moore, her camera man of three years.

The rest of the story was barely comprehensible. How she ended up on the ground again, she couldn’t recall.

Claire wanted to give it another try in the morning before she and Alan Grant were taken to the mainland, hoping the shock would wear off a little. Maybe learn more about Caldwell’s involvement.

“Not gonna wear off that soon,” Owen noted, resting his rifle against the wall and rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

“You know what I mean,” she responded tiredly, wondering if it was going to wear off at all. Probably not anytime soon.

“Yeah, I do.”

“He knew that… this creature would be there. And he sent them there,” Claire said, still dumbfounded, and rubbed her forehead, her mind reeling.

Owen’s gaze hardened, his jaw twitching. “Son of a bitch set them up. Set _you_ up, too.”

She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing. “But why?”

“Don’t you get it? Whatever happens here – it’s on you. I mean, it’s easy, right? You already don’t have much reputation left to--”

“Thanks,” she snorted dryly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You know what I mean,” he tossed her own words back at her. “And what’s better way to bury your newly established credibility than to get someone else killed on your watch?”

“You think he knows I’m trying to find out what’s going on here,” she finished for him and bit into her lip. It wasn’t a question.

Owen shrugged. “Sounds about right.”

“Which means we’re getting close.”

Claire walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottled of wine, and then reached for the glass, trying to remember where she kept Tylenol. Her head felt like it was going to explode any moment.

“Which means we’re not getting any further,” he stated, determined and firm.

She turned to him, her eyebrows knitted together. “Meaning…?”

Owen glowered at her as she poured the wine and took a sip, his chin set stubbornly. “You’re leaving with Grant and that nosy lady who nearly got her head bitten off. Sounds familiar? Something you two can bond over, huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not staying here, Claire.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, could you repeat that again? Because it sounded like you were trying to tell me what to do.”

“You could have died today!” He yelled, surprising them both and rendering them speechless for a moment, the silence that settled around them so sudden it felt deafening.

Claire leveled him with a steady gaze. “I know. I was there when it almost happened.”

He threw up his hands and turned away, sharking his head in helpless frustration. “Today, or any other day in this godforsaken place. Which risk do you think will be one risk too many?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this the right time to remind you it was your idea to come here?”

“For me, not for you.”

“Well, I’m sorry for derailing your plans.”

“Claire…”

“What about you?” She interjected. “We’re leaving together, right?”

He flinched, visibly pained.

“Of _course_!” Claire rolled her eyes. “You just want to ship _me_ off.”

“I don’t want to--” Owen ran a hand through his hair and then turned on his heel and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “You know what? That’s not fair! I stand by your decisions whenever you need me to, no questions asked, but you can’t trust me this one time--”

“You’re asking me to walk away and leave you behind!” She snapped, placing her glass on the side table near the couch, a few drops spilling on the polished surface.

“I’m asking you to stay alive! Since when did you become such a hypocrite?”

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open in shock. “I’m a hypocrite?! And who spent almost a week at the hospital, Owen? I’m not the one who needed a blood transfusion in the past month.”

“You don’t have to be so dramatic. And it’s not the point anyway,” he stated defensively.

“How’s that not the point? What makes your safety less important than mine?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” Owen barked sharply, and then walked off, leaning heavily on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, his reflection distorted in its smooth surface, which felt oddly accurate.

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, barely able to hear anything past the blood rush in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling scared and desperate and so tired that even thinking felt like too much effort. So exhausted and world-weary it was driving him mad.

He didn’t hear Claire approach so much as feel it – the slight stir of the air around him, his skin tingling from her nearness, the instinctive response of his body that didn’t get the memo about having to be angry. He stiffed momentarily when she slipped her hand into his, and then relaxed slowly as she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, allowing his muscles to slacken.

“I’m scared too,” she murmured into the fabric of his shirt, her breath hot on his skin. “But I’m more scared without you.”

When Owen turned to her again, his face was lined with worry and powerless resignation. Like he could no longer carry the weight of the world all by himself.

She lifted her hand to trace her fingertips along his face, smooth the crease between his eyebrows with her thumb before pulling up on her tiptoes to brush her lips to his.

“Claire…”

“Please,” she whispered, allowing her eyes to flutter closed, trailing her mouth along his cheek down to his jaw, kissing the place where his dimple popped up every time he smiled. “I need… this. You.” Her hand slipped around his neck, fingers burying in his hair.

A brief pause, a slight hesitation, a moment to shift from one realm to another, and then he turned to her, following her call, kissing her hard, his hands framing her face, his lips firm and demanding, stealing Claire’s breath away. _Now_ , she thought as deep, consuming need zinged through her, her awareness tunneling until the whole world zeroed in on her and Owen, everything else fading away.

At six foot two, Owen was made of taut muscles and majestic grace, the strength radiating off of him was often almost palpable, something Claire felt wrapped around her like a shield whenever he was near. A jolt of intense pleasure zapped through her, pushing everything else back, out of her reach. She heard a low groan, realizing only moments later that it came from her as Owen pulled her against him, his hands, his mouth seemingly everywhere at once.

“Scared me,” he muttered gruffly against her mouth.

“I'm sorry.” She shivered under his touch, struggling to think straight, her perception scattered.

They stumbled toward the bedroom, her hands slipping under his shirt, lifting and tugging and pushing until it was no longer an unwanted barrier between her and his skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware of the sound of their clothes tearing at the seams as they shed them off, hasty and impatient to vanish in the sheer joy of filling one another.  

Claire moaned and pressed herself closed to him when Owen lowered her down, spreading her on her sheets, his hands and lips searching, teasing, tasting, claiming. Her throat closed up, honey-soft warmth blossoming in her belly like a glow until it devoured her whole. She arched her back, pulling him over her and taking him in on a long slide.

The first exquisite plunge into her was pure bliss, the sensation searing through him, making his nerves feel raw and exposed. She gasped, the sound morphing into a low whimper of acceptance, and he pressed his mouth to hers, swallowing it, allowing it to pulse through him. He tended to hold back with her, keeping his urges at bay, but the happiness and relief mixed with overwhelming fear of the past few hours washed over him, taking over his senses, throwing him into a whirlpool of wanting.

"God, Claire..."

She rose beneath him, coaxing his hips into motion, settling them into a steady rock, her nails scraping is back, leaving the marks Owen knew would take days to fade away. He caught her wrist and pressed her arm into the pillow over her head, their fingers laced together, a stretch adding a new  angle eliciting a low grunt of satisfaction from him. His mouth latched onto her neck, and Claire’s eyes dropped closed, her breathing growing more erratic with every moment, her grip on him urgent and almost panicky as she drew him deeper. So, so good.

He cupped her breast with his palm, earning a needy whimper, tempted to retread to a slower pace just to tease her and keep her on the brink for a while longer, but her eyes flew wide open then, pupils blown with desire. The green of her gaze steadied him, holding him together and pulling him apart all at once, and his heart tripped over itself, his whole body aching with primal yearning to dissolve into her. Her hand splayed on his chest, Claire nipped his bottom lip in encouragement, and he trailed his fingers along her ribs and up her thigh, pressing it into his hip, drowning in sweet friction and completeness.

Another push, and her body stilled beneath him, his name falling from her lips in an outcry of ecstatic delight, waves of pleasure rippling through her. One more, and he was falling into a bright kaleidoscope of golden elation, alive and whole and _present_. 

“You okay?” Owen pressed his forehead to hers, his awareness still blurred, save for the sensation of her body wound around him.

“Mmm,” Claire bumped her nose against his and giggled, the sound like sunshine. “Don’t go,” she murmured when he shifted, her arms snaking around his neck.

“Don’t want to crush you.”

Owen collapsed into the sheets beside her, deliciously spent, and when she turned her head, he was right there, kissing her slowly and sweetly, his palm on her cheek, his fingers braiding through her hair. He smiled against her mouth, feeling Claire smile too; trailed his fingers along her face and pulled her closer to him.

“That was…” he started.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, her hand pressed to his chest, his heartbeat a rapid staccato under her palm.

“Yeah,” he echoed.

“Can we do it again?” Claire asked in a soft murmur.

A low, guttural laughter rumbled up in his chest. Owen pressed his lips her shoulder, her collarbone, trailed his mouth down her chest, between her breasts, his quest punctuated with slow kisses, until finally he rested his head on her stomach, his cheek pressed to her belly and his arms wrapped possessively around her hips.

“As many times as you want,” he promised her with a cheeky grin, and she smirked, running her hand through his hair slightly damp with sweat.

Claire exhaled slowly, waiting for her heartrate to get back to normal, for the world to stop spinning around her, her whole body still buzzing, electrified.

Sometimes, she felt  like it was all she needed – just moments like this, crammed together, as many as she could fit in her life. Other times, she feared her heart would burst from feeling too much and too fully. It scared her – the completeness of them, her inability to remember the time when she would roll over in her sleep and Owen wouldn’t be there, the sensation of feeling so much more alive than ever before.

“Have you thought of what’s going to happen next?” She asked quietly, absently carding her fingers through his hair that felt soft and smooth against her skin.

Owen rubbed his cheek against her stomach, his beard tickling her silky skin. “Mmm,” he hummed, kissed her hipbone. “I kinda like the _next_ we have now.”

Claire snorted, and his lips stretch into a smile. He could practically _feel_ her roll her eyes, his arms flexing to tighten his grip on her. 

“Not that _next_ ,” she pointed out in that patient voice that normally meant she was anything but. “After… we’re done here. When all of this is over. This island. Everything…” she trailed off.

“Not really,” Owen admitted after a long moment, not quite ready for the direction in which this conversation was heading. Not when he was feeling so damn good. Claire’s breathing had evened out, her belly rising and falling slowly under his cheek, soothing and present. He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. “I’ll go wherever you will go.”

She didn’t say anything for a little while.

Outside the open window, the trees were swaying in the night breeze, the rustle of the leaves carried off into the ocean. Somewhere in the forest, an animal cried out and moments later, another one responded, the sounds blending in together and echoing in the hills.

These sounds had become such a enormous part of Owen’s life he often strained to hear them while lying wide awake at night in San Diego as Claire slept sounds by his side. It unnerved and unsettled him to hear the traffic noises and the voices of their neighbors and the occasional lapping of the waves against the sand when everything else was quiet. Like it wasn’t enough.

Yes, he knew there was supposed to be life after the island, but he didn’t really _know_ it, didn’t think of it past the abstract ‘probably, maybe’. But now that it was looming on the horizon, it looked less like a new start and more like a big black nothing. The only sure thing about it was that Claire was there. Hell, Claire was _it_. All of it, for all he cared.

“Maybe you shouldn't,” she said when Owen began to drift off, his mind fuzzy and soft around the edges.

“Come again?” He murmured. She didn’t say anything, and he lifted his head to look at her. “Claire?”

“I don’t want you to throw your life away because of me.”

He frowned and then scooted up and closer to her, pulling a sheet over their still heated bodies when she shivered ever so slightly in the breeze spilling into the room through the open window. In the dark, it was hard to see her eyes, impossible to read her. Owen found her hand and kissed her palm, his lips brushing against the small cuts crossing her skin, before curling his fingers around hers.

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Owen said quietly, his voice nothing but a whoosh of breath. “I want to be with you. I want _you_.” The corner of his mouth quirked as he pushed her hair back from her forehead and she sank comfortably into him, her body relaxing against his. "You're my girl." 

Claire’s palm landed on his chest; she rubbed her nose against his cheek. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Then I’ll get myself a hobby and start growing tomatoes in the backyard or building bird houses or something.”

“Do you even know how to build a bird house?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” he said, kissing her lightly, and then again – deeper the time. He shifted them until she was sprawled over him, her hand on the back of his neck as her tongue darting past his lips, languid and soft and real.

“Not leaving without you, Owen,” she whispered against is mouth. “Can’t even think about it.”

“Hey.” He touched her face, propping her chin on his knuckle. “I’m not going to… God, Claire, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.” He swallowed. “Can’t lose you.”

“Never,” she promised, dropping a kiss near the corner of his mouth.

Owen ran his hands along her shoulders and down her back as she rested her head on his chest, tucking it under his chin. Sated and drowsy, she let out a long content sigh. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m really gonna hold you to that.”   

\---

Claire awoke to the sound of the rain pounding furiously against the glass. She squeezed her eyes tight and buried her face deeper into the pillow in an attempt to snag a few more precious moments of peace and comfort, disconnected from the troubles of the day.

She stretched lazily, leaching blindly for the other side of the bed, and then opened one eye and then another when her hand landed on an empty pillow, her nose scrunched in confusion. And it was then that it dawned on her that the room was filled with sunlight shining through the thin curtains and the sound that pulled her out of a dream she could no longer recall was coming not from the outside but from behind the half-open bathroom door and was, in fact, her shower.   

Lips curved into a small smile, Claire kicked off the covers and climbed out of the bed. She twisted her hair into a sloppy bun on the top of her head and pulled off Owen’s shirt she slept in, leaving it draped over the back of her vanity chair. The bathroom, so much unlike Owen’s only-shower-no-bathtub tiny one, was filled with heavy steam.

Behind the fogged up glass, Owen was humming something under his breath, his face turned up to the spray of water.

She stepped into the cubicle and place a hand on his hip. “Need a company?”

Owen turned, the wattage of his smile skyrocketing by the second. “Hey.” A palm on her cheek, he lifted her chin up to kiss her. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Thought you wanted to sleep in.”

“And miss all the fun?” An eyebrow arched, Claire shifted her gaze to his mouth, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, trying to bite back a smile.

Owen flicked some water in her face and laughed when her mouth dropped in mock shock. “Having fun yet?”

“Don’t get my hair wet,” she warned him in a tone that implied she meant business.

He moved closer to her and ran a soapy sponge up her arm and down her chest so tenderly it made Claire’s heart ache. Oh, sex was great, beyond great even – she could admit that much. But it was the in-between moments like this one that truly took her breath away, moments when he managed to make her feel like the most wanted and treasured and precious person in existence. She wondered sometimes if he even knew it, if he had any idea how he was making her glow on the inside.

Owen booped her on the nose, leaving a glob of bubbles on her skin. Claire blew it off with a huff and he dipped his head to kiss her again, still smiling.

“You’re not angry anymore, are you?” She asked quietly against his chest, peppering it with soft kisses.

He furrowed his eyebrows, lost momentarily, the change of subject so unexpected he wondered if she started this conversation long before he became a part of it, always racing ahead of the world. And then he exhaled slowly, the tight tension in his chest uncoiling.

“I wasn’t mad, Claire—I mean, I was.” A tight-lipped growl of frustration. “You were going to march into the forest on a rescue mission, all by yourself!”

“With Dr. Grant,” she countered immediately. “And I tried calling you.”

“Not the point--”

“Exactly the point, Owen,” she rolled her eyes like he was a petulant five-year old having a tantrum in a toy store. “Like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing.”

Owen grimaced. He hated it when she was right, and she was always right. Being right was Claire’s thing, wasn’t it? Like being impulsive on occasion was his. Or like being crazy about her.

“It’s not the same thing,” he protested nonetheless, out of sheer stubbornness more than anything else.

“How?” She tilted her head to the side, her voice dangerously calm, and he knew straight away that he was walking on thin ice. One wrong word, and he’d be under it and drowning in frigid water.

“I wasn’t mad,” he insisted. “I was terrified.” She didn’t say anything, and he added, “Always am, you know?” Owen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What if something happened to you? Never not scared of that…”

Claire stretched up on her toes and pressed her face into his neck, wrapped in a cloud of steam and soft scents of his skin and her floral shampoo. “Ditto, Mr. Grady.”

“ _Ditto_?” He chuckled, running a sponge down her back and along her waist, dipping his head to kiss her on the sensitive spot behind her ear. “I’ve never heard you say _ditto_. Didn’t know you knew the word.” She tried to swat him off with mock-annoyance, but Owen caught her hand, kissed her fingers, his eyes, sparkling with humor, locked with hers.

And then her face fell. 

“What’s this?” Claire frowned, spotting a bite-mark on his shoulder – two pink semi-circles prominent on his skin.

His eyebrows shot up all the way to his hairline. “You tell me.”

“I did it?” She pressed her lips to the sore spot and murmured, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s hardly something I’d ever complain about.”

Their own kind of branding, he thought, as she kissed her way across his collarbone and up his neck, seemingly no longer concerned about keeping her hair dry. It was funny, really, the way Owen could feel her these days. The way he could sense her presence across the room, sense the shifts in her, the changing patterns of her mood.

When she was this close, though, it felt less like a presence and more like knowing that a part of him he didn’t even know was missing had finally found its way back to him. On the moments like this, it was hard to resist the urge to wrap his whole body around her and never let go.

Somewhere in the bedroom, Owen’s phone let out a protesting shrill, giving them both a start, and he pulled back with a groan, glancing over Claire’s head.

“And that’s my cue,” he grimaced.

“Where’re you going?” She asked.

“Gotta find Blue.”

“Do you have to?” She glanced down pointedly and then met his gaze again, a coy glint in her eyes.

He let out a short laugh and cupped her face with his palm, capturing her mouth with his again. “You’re turning it into a very hard decision,” Owen admitted. “No pun intended.”

“Maybe I could change your mind,” she offered suggestively.

His phone started to ring again.

“Wouldn’t want to rush with _that_.” He pecked her on the tip on her nose. “Raincheck?”

She shook her head, amused. “Sure.”

Owen rinsed the sponge and turned off the water that went from almost scalding to tepid before stepping out of the cubicle. “You need a lift anywhere?”

He fixed a towel around his waist before wrapping Claire in another one, trying oh so hard not to think of the water drops gathered on her skin and how he’d much rather toss his phone into the toilet and spend the next few hours kissing them away.

“Wait, you’re not going to try and keep me locked up here or something?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, turning to the mirror over the sink.

“What good would it do me?” He deadpanned with flat resignation, earning a toothy grin from her. And then his brows pulled together in concern. “I didn’t do this, did I?” He stepped toward her, his fingers skimming gently over her back.

“What?” Claire craned her neck to see what he was looking at, and then half-turned to try and catch a reflection of her back when Plan A went out the window.

The was a purple bruise on her shoulder-blade about an inch in diameter, tender to the touch now that she knew it was there. “No, that was your picnic table,” she said after a moment or two of a thorough mental search. “I knew it didn’t like me.”

Behind her, Owen let out a sharp exhale before wrapping his arm across Claire’s chest and pulling her against him, their eyes locked in the mirror. “I mean, we do some fun stuff sometimes, but I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t,” she assured him, the corners of her lips tugged up, curved into a soft smile. “What?” She asked, catching Owen watch her with an odd, unreadable expression. Her eyes narrowed.

“It’s funny, you know,” he said with a slight bewilderment. “I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes thinking that all of this isn’t real. That you and I….” His voice trailed off. “You’re a pain in the ass, sometimes,” Owen pressed his lips to her hair, ignoring Claire’s half-hearted attempt to elbow him in the ribs. “But you’re all I need. And if this whole world went straight to hell tomorrow, I know I’d still be okay so long as you were with me.”

“Well, wasn’t it--”

Claire’s phone chimed, announcing arrival of a voicemail, and Owen rolled his eyes with exasperation. “Aw, come on! I’m trying to be poetic here!”

“Who told you that calling a girl a pain in the ass is poetic?” She inquired, half curious, half incredulous.

He chuckled, locking both arms around her when she made an attempt to move away, his chin resting on the top of her head and his lips twisted into a cheeky smirk. “I’m a pain in the ass, too. We make a fine match.”

Claire wiggled around to face him. “Don’t you have a dinosaur to catch?”

Owen studied her features. “Remember how when you were a kid, you thought that when you grew up, you’d do whatever you wanted instead of, I don’t know, dealing with the curfew and eating vegetables for dinner?”

“Uh-huh,” Claire nodded, clasping her hands together behind his back.

“Where did _that_ dream go?”

“Hm… wouldn’t you get bored if you could get everything you wanted whenever you wanted it?”

“You’re kidding me now, right?”

He kissed her quickly, cut her mid-laughter, and then steered her into the bedroom to get dressed.

There were two missed calls and a message from Barry on his phone – something vague but urgent. He slipped into French half-way through, and Owen couldn’t quite decide if he was talking about an omelet or his laundry, and the fact that voicemail normally tended to make everything sound gargled wasn’t helping the matter.

He didn’t even realize until this moment that he was practically holding his breath for the past few days. It wasn’t over yet, far from it, but knowing that the new dinosaur was no longer an issue on the island left him with such a tremendous sense of relief he could almost feel he was about to soar into the sky.

Barry didn’t pick up when Owen tried calling back so he simply left a message, promising to get over to the Control Room as soon as he could. By the time Claire emerged from the bedroom with her phone squeezed between her shoulder and her ear, he had the coffee machine running and was rummaging through the thinning contents of her fridge.

“We might need to do some shopping,” he pointed out when she hung up and reached for his coffee mug.

“As in, we need to go to the mainland, or we need to go into the jungle and shoot something?” She asked, watching him over the rim of the cup.

“Either.” Owen pushed a plate with a sandwich across the counter toward her and sank his teeth into his own.

“Why did she do it, Owen?” Claire slid onto one of the tall stools, her face pensive.

“You gotta give me some context here, honey,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Blue.” She gave him a _look_. Sometimes, when she did that, he was quite tempted to stick his tongue out at her. “Alan and I… we didn’t stand a chance against the two of them. And yet she chose to… not to attack.”

She was still holding his mug, so he grabbed another one from the cup holder and filled it to the brim. “They’re not murder machines, Claire. They have instincts, yes, but they’re smart, too. They can make conscious decisions. Blue grew up knowing that I was in command. She could’ve turned on you, but she chose not to because you’re a part of the pack now.”

“I thought you said she hated me,” Claire noted, digging into her breakfast.

“She can hate you and still respect the fact that you’re, like, second-in-command Alpha,” he scoffed, making her roll her eyes at his wording. “Look, we don’t know how smart they are or what they’re capable of. This project was never completed, remember? Blue’s barely two, and…” He shrugged. “For all I know, she’s still a kid. There’s no saying when they become mature and all that. For all I know, she was trying to protect whatever’s left of the only family she’s ever had.”

Claire’s expression softened. “Even if it was an evil step-mother,” she finished for him.

Owen’s lips quirked. “You’re not so bad. Caffeine helps, usually.”

She threw a bread crust at him. Owen dodged away from it and then he leaned over the counter, his face hovering barely half an inch away from hers. From this close, he could see every freckle, every golden spec in her green eyes. From this close, he could feel like he was being pulled into a whirlpool of something he couldn’t even begin to explain.

“You’re very good at stacking bread and cheese on top of one and other,” Claire admitted.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “You should see what I can do with instant noodles.”

\---

Spinning blades of a helicopter kept whipping Claire’s hair in her face. She pushed it out of her eyes, again, squinting in the sunlight.

Owen’s radio crackled to life, and he waved an ‘All clear’ to the pilot before pulling the door shut. On the other side of the window, Alan Grant touched the brim of his hat, saluting to Claire, and she waved her goodbye.

It was near impossible to get him out of the lab this morning, his ever curious mind sparkling alive at the slightest hint of a mystery to be solved, and a brand new dinosaur, albeit a dead one, qualified as a major one. He tried to explain the preliminary lab results to Claire – something about DNA and genetic composition and all the words that she knew meant something but that sounded ridiculous and made-up – but they were inconclusive yet, considering the time frame, and she was adamant to get him off the island.

Alan assured her that his injury was minor, but it still seemed like too big a risk to ignore it. Claire promised him she’d forward all the findings straight to him as soon as they come in as she tried to ignore a mangled corpse of a killed animal on the steel table in what used to be Wu’s lab, remembering if a little belatedly that it was where she, Owen and the boys found the remaining side-effects of Wu’s experiments, the ones he chose to leave behind. The irony of dissecting his latest monster exactly where it all started wasn’t lost on her.

Across from Alan, Kathrine Marshall was staring sightlessly out of her own window. If she had at least an hour of sleep the previous night, it wasn’t showing. Claire did her best to try and talk to her before Barry loaded her bags into the chopper, but it was akin talking to a wall. Unlike Dr. Grant who seemed to have bounced back rather easily, she appeared to still be in shock, and frankly, Claire couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of shit storm they were about to face. If Kathrine Marshall so much as opened her mouth about what happened here, Caldwell might as well forget about his 5- and 10-year business plans.

Not that she cared.

The chopper took off at last after Lowery confirmed that the sky was clear. Traveling by air was hardly the safest choice on the island populated with Pteranodons. They had to be grateful for whatever window they could use.

“Grady. A minute?” Harris peeled off a group of people the moment the elevator doors slid open and Claire stepped into the Control Room with Owen right on her heels, his hair still ruffled up by the wind and sticking out in every direction.

He grimaced at the sight of Harris. “Whatever it is, can we not do it? Like, ever?”

“I’d love to,” Harris admitted flatly. “But it’s actually…” He cleared his throat, not looking particularly comfortable or enthusiastic.

“Okay, I should probably let you--” Claire began but Harris raised his hand to stop her.

“You might want to stick around for this, Ms. Dearing.”

Claire didn’t hear so much as feel Owen go rigid beside her.

Harris glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, his gaze fixed on Owen. “Remember that time when you totaled one of our choppers and we had to save your sorry ass?”

“If you get any more sentimental about it, I’m gonna cry,” Owen scoffed. Claire shot him a warning look and he pursed his lips together.

Harris disregarded his comment. “We got the black box. I had someone give it a look.”

The tone of his voice, the edge and gravity in it, made Claire’s pulse trip.

“And?” Owen sounded as impatient as she felt, except there was certain wariness to him as well, like he wanted to hear the answer but was also dreading it more than anything else in the world.

“The navigation system had been tampered with.” Harris squared his jaw. “It’s not that there was a storm and you were hit by a lightning, or whatever. It’s that the chopper would’ve crashed either way.”

“Wait, are you seriously saying someone was trying to…” Owen voice dropped, his throat going dry. “Someone tried to kill me?”

Harris hesitated. “Anyone could be flying it that day. There’s no way to tell when…”

“Gimme a break.” Owen ran a hand down his face. “Everyone knew it was going to be me. It wasn’t a secret.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not the biggest problem,” Harris said.

“Wouldn’t that be too good to be true?” Owen muttered darkly.

“What _is_ the problem?” Claire asked, feeling that the floor started to swim beneath her feet.

Harris glanced quickly back at the two MCU guys chatting to Lowery by his station, his gaze skimming over the monitors on the back wall, some of them showing the vets and the InGen men busy with something or the other.

“The biggest problem is there’s no way to find to who did it.”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me for a little while longer. There will be one more chapter and an epilogue, although I'm not sure yet if an epilogue is going to be within that chapter or a separate thing. I'll see how long it'll turn out when I'm done, I guess. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love :) Authors live for them!
> 
> **ETA: On hold until further notice**


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